December

In the deadest dream of winter does all
descend in slow motion? Snowflakes
suspended in midair, wood creaks
as frost clings to branches. Life hangs
but from a spidery thread. Drops of water
freeze to gems plummeting toward
solid ground. A tiny leaf trembles;
still connected by a slender stem,
it snaps in two– the leaf floats
away, a staggering ghost.

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