in the dead of winter
I’m on the fence again
like a crow at the county’s edge
contemplating his next move
winter lasts forever here
sunlight bouncing off the white carpet
and back into space
I’m not much for small talk
and the pace can’t get much slower
thoughts frozen in time
inside beside the burning fire
a notebook & sharpened pencils
whispering my name
january two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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