the branches like eclairs holding tufts of white morning
screech as they move in the dry wind that laps at your freckles
nothing has walked on the lake but cats and deer
and the iodine os frozen
the earth is green and crunched under this sleeping
and my body is ready to move in the air
these words came when i saw it
the pointed finger nail ice dripping from the pipe
the welcome sign laced with night
and here they are fermented
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