snow, drop

clinging hard to the dance of dawn, delayed

and you can lie
belly up to the cold grey sky
letting go of all fear
til the hawk comes tapping
on one shoulder

nothing between us,
no shield,
no field,
nothing filling the corners
with debris

just these bold
reflection curves
and mist-mirrored
smiles

holding court
in a forest
of fancy

.

.

.

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