It's snowing again a land of snow and the world is a contraption about to combust
She said a mixed-up assault of epistemic chaos those witch-haired winter trees Still murmurating like black birds in my field of consciousness searching the cold sky A pale moon suspended there a voice older than the body hears the voice The mountains the rivers the creatures crawl out of their holes to listen a flock
Across the sky announce the day the river's arms open reveal a body the gravel
Road my feet scrape the gravel road.
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