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four hours into 2020

Joel Morrow

strong wind

winter

rushing in, blew away the brittle

grey air, now restless

warm, damp, heavy

already drowned out

the fires of the new year

that were, just before

bellowing dimly, clamoring somewhere

out there in the dark

for someone to notice


we saw smoke, no fire


we’ve held our breath for a long time


still holding

bird
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