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Two winters past, I found
my way under a crevice,
snow soaked
branches and brown leaves,
daylight entering blue through the cover,
in the white expanse, one hour
till sundown.
The night upon me,
no way but the
forest, black or moonlit blizzard, the floor
down the hill, giving way underfoot,
wind splintering in the bone
staring off the side of the cliff

the sight distantly ahead,
emerging from the blur,
wild orange of the campfire

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