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Friday, February 6, 2015


The steady "squinch-squinch" sound of the snow
Clearly indicates that it is at least thirteen below
Where the snowflakes resist being crushed together
Retaining their shape and pushing back against the pressure

And in that same dream I found my son
Playing in the snow as children do
Without a hint of missing me
As much as I was him
But this was a dream I was having
And this was not my son here in the snow

Only a memory