by Janice D. Soderling

wind-torn winter mud-tinged snow
and despair some had beards
some not I took them home
undressed them only to cull
some warmth a staccato clinking
like a metronome seeking music
or an ice jam in my frostbit veins
as in inert brooks or icicle spikes
reflecting the glare of winterbound
eyes a city of stone staircases and
frozen sun

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