The Night Drives Its Nails

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Winter bares the tree to a solitary nest.
Rain drips through its mesh of twigs.
Snow embalms it in a wreath of soft cotton.
That nest is as heavy as
The silence which clogs my ears,
Or the smoke which weighs on my lungs.
It penetrates my dreams, where night
Is driving and driving its nails.
Friday, May 23, 2014
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