Sunday, January 18, 2015

the muddied path

the unblue wash
of sky has fallen
into the cold stream.
we walk along
the muddied path,
glove in glove
hurrying to be home
by dark, to fix
a meal, to sink
into the comfort
of a couch before
a fire, to talk
long into the winter
night
about everything,
everything but love.

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