S N O W.

snow breaks tiny lines in
an unconforming sky
flaking at the head of a
rusted, forgotten poet
covering roses lain by
lost souls passing
a dismal grave.

words creep on forever
underneath ivory sheets
stained yellow,
as time rapes of pure.
we cover our hands
to cover our mouths
to mute our voices
until we pass the end
of the pages,

snow white pages, bark
a little calm:
as pens jostle a
shaken grip,
writing letters to
the poet underneath
the words of snow.

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©Denise Angela Celeste 1997