poetry by j matthew waters

the big thaw

sheets of ice seem to be shrinking
right before our very eyes
but where are all the puddles I ask you
shouldn’t there be countless
puddles of mud

you give me the cold shoulder
retreating effortlessly
and just like those large sheets of ice
you recoil unto yourself
leaving not a drop in your wake

march two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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