ant5

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the despair

of one

egg

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cracking ice

a hint of

dawn

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it’s bright

but hangs low

the mist

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it tears

rather than

congealing

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thin skin of frost

turns what’s green

into gray

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keeps them alive

a random language

of water

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most of the stars

up there where

they should be

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the beetle

made it

in my sock

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the lights

the lights are for

the spirits

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