Ojo Caliente ~ New Mexico ~ by Sharmagne Leland-St. John

Winter Morning
by Preeth Ganapathy

The trees are mantled ice-white.
Their tips touch the blue-grey sky.
Their branches are asleep
without squirrel-patter and flower-chatter.
The flycatchers and bee-eaters
are warm in their homes.
The dragonflies and butterflies will dance
again when it is time
for the green scent of leaves to return.
The snow is a shroud
over the parabola of the electric wires,
the park-benches, the picket-fences,
the slate-grey roads,
this silent-breath,
this still-moment.


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