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Quiet, In Winter

holds the air
as summer never will.
Bird’s song, traffic, children in the trees,
muffled, tucked away by
storm windows, closed doors, falling snow
in concert, singing to the world,
Hush, now
and Here, hold this:
a mug of cocoa
a cup full of quiet.

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The Sketchbook


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I came to where you were living, up a stair. There was no one there.--John Ashberry, "The New Higher"

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