winter organics

by mistersoto

what hasn’t he taken up?
in midwinter
short days slipping the fingers
and it all turns
he said
here, pointing to the heart
if only a silent snow
could fall there
the returning memory breathing life
into limbs, the realization-
it’s all organic
the words in their books
all edifices made
emotions spurred
and heart’s broken pain
dissolving
amongst frozen bracken
once held in permanence’s hand
now locating it’s returning path
in his midwinter

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