Our winter house is always
searching for the sun amongst the trees
on the wrong side of the hill
where a clearing is needed
in which to shiver its timbers
and even when the tapering glass heights
pierce through to that slant bright
which briefly dips our way
still the warmth is bird weighted
thinly sitting and as quickly gone
and there is no keeping it
when the claypull damp of the evening
siphons into our bones
what a gem!
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