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            in the snow               (alone)
     in the shadow of a heavy church door
                              I return


                      to take back the things I'd given
                                            my friends




                                               I came to steal
                                    my prayers
                                    and theirs


                                                  without                asking
                                                                            keeping
                                                                           knowing...



                       ruined

                                                streets

                       roll black
                       wintric

                                                sheets

                       every few

                                   (hundred)

                                                weeks


    ice claws down the powerlines

                        silvery transluscent

                                                 teeth


pages of a discarded book
                   stick to one another

                                       heavy with
                                                  sleet


                                                                      lights are slowly ceding to the dawn
                                                                      I'm wondering when the service will begin
                                                                      and I know that one of these times
                                                                      will be the right time and yet
                                                                      my friends have all gone
                                                                      and I feel nothing of this Sunday
                                                                      but the plague of an empty faith
                                                                      and nothing is what I've come to offer
                                                                      because nothing keeps us safe


a cat is slowly rotting

                 beneath a porch

                                  across the street

everything in the ice is preserved,
                                      in a sense

                          but somehow
                                        nothing
                                                  keeps

sometime in 2015

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