Autumn's crisp bravado
gives way to a quagmire
of wind and snow and dark.
Love’s ghosts emerge
from the creeping shadow
of ripening malaise
as the grass disappears
under a new winter's mantle.
The eastern star parks
before us as we slouch toward
his coming and becoming,
toward the child who plays
already in our hearts. Come sing,
numbing and thawing and numbing
again, expecting the birth to begin.
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