In winter

a figure in a flurry of memos observes her pendulum clock
  work through all the rules and I will know how to act my part
    men, part citizen, nothing to uncover
    story of the land being uprooted, and all the while she is keeping time
  she is
  like an oak in winter
a rustling

a blackbird recites a piece by Shakespeare, mis-attributed, all rights reserved
  or righteously open and bleak
as if there’s grey that I don’t know, polar opposites
  a prison of desire
  a menu of choice, three dishes
  presented and discussed in hushed and revered tones
    in passing
    only the smouldering of the fire reaching my ears

I am so quiet, I am
so quiet, I
barely know how to articulate my consonants
constants I try to hold on to as the world stays in motion
blankets of sorrow draped between the trees
like an birch in winter
a fleeting murmur

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