Sunday, February 10, 2008

Winter Poetry

February Sunday

Children are "down" for their naps.
The men are driving over a frozen lake
to fish through the hard ice.
In this house
dust hangs in beams of sunlight.
A car goes by
engine humming over icy streets
snow covered lawns.
My world breathes with the sleeping children.
Ghosts are quiet.
Sun is a narrowing parallelogram
on the painted wall.

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