The page opens to snow on a field: boot holed month, black hour/ the bottle in your coat half vodka half winter light./ To what and to whom does one say yes?


Yes, I must welcome this new winter of the world.

I’ve shunned her before and paid the price

In callous coldness- in a winter alone.

I can only hope that by my own emitting light, I can take away the internal chill that brings on your oblivion.

For warmth can be found in the coldest of winters, but this must start by welcoming in the night, to illuminate it later.

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