fresh snow
from the overnight squall
lies deep in drifts
deadening sound
joining the street
people begin to stare
mothers pulling children
covering eyes
while looking
with confused stares
of indignation, intimidation
interest
leaving them
to reach a green belt
painted
with winter's whitewash brush
I lay my torso down
extending extremities
using the last of my strength
naked, and cold
I am still held in the arms
of an angel
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