TORI S. BARENDREGT | CREATIVES
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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