The winter sun lower and dull. All its beams lay
thin strokes barely across forms; before they estrange
the day, you write. What it is you try to convey
sticks in place as you ponder the coming exchange.
Thin strokes—barely a cross forms before they estrange
the winter sun. Lower and dull all its beams, lay
sticks in place as you ponder the coming exchange
the day you write what it is you try to convey.
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