ant5

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landscape

on your robe

lost in a fold

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I meet you

again in

the little machine

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crumbs

ecology of

the floor

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she says not

a bad joke

trauma sutra

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the odd sound

always somewhere

else in the room

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like tiny moths

flakes of frost

shudder in the air

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rose hips

their coronas

white with ice

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shadows

get lost

in the frozen air

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just ice

without

the periods

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blue jay

sticks out on

the frosty limbs

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