the presence of the snow on the ground and the cold wind in the air
is less than pleasant...words whispered or shouted are stolen away
by the stiff gusts as soon as spoken, fading like distant screams from
a house that is more than haunted.
tips of porcelain angel wings reach skyward
while robes touch, crease, then fold together.
This is the essence of the flow of the found...
the iron wood door at the top of the stair.
30 Dec 2010
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