Winter burns us brittle.
Don’t make any sudden moves this month.
When we brush against each other
to warm ourselves on these banked fires,
move slowly,
so pieces of us don’t break off
in all this bone deep cold.
Winter burns us brittle.
Don’t make any sudden moves this month.
When we brush against each other
to warm ourselves on these banked fires,
move slowly,
so pieces of us don’t break off
in all this bone deep cold.
aka: The Happy Bookers
Artist
I came to where you were living, up a stair. There was no one there.--John Ashberry, "The New Higher"
custom poems on vintage typewriters
One Poet's Writing Practice
A Ronka Poetry Practice Since 2014
Living in the moment
Where observation and imagination meet nature in poetry.
