ON THE SHORTEST DAY OF THE YEAR A woman went into darkness, past the black ruby roses and was never heard from again. She moved quietly past bleached grass a December day it moved into sixties near Troy. It was foggy and warm, very much like today. It could have been today. You probably think this woman was me, it seems there are reasons. But listen I’ve never seen, only imagine those tissue thin roses and that last minute before light collapses. A garnet leaf on the pond is less red than my hair blazing, the lone signal to guide you in
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