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The Breath of Winter


The breath of winter –

the only breath visible on naked air –

slips from between warm lips, twirls in pirouettes,

to the song of morning’s silence,

on the invisible stage erected of loose air suspended

above the snow-ploughed road in a slumbering town,

evaporating to the applause of winking stars

and before eyes still cloaked by sleep

that are yet wide and more alive

than the sun lumbering just below the horizon,

watching her own palm stretch out,

cupping the day’s first snowflakes

sighed on

the breath of winter.

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Giovanni groggily sat up in his wheelchair. He had fallen asleep again. He gripped the inner wheel as he pushed himself along the sterile hallways. The hallways were so familiar they appeared even in


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