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Winter Branches


That winter, after you left,

I would reach out and clutch

cold sheets and empty air –

I imagined that I still had life inside,

even if it was buried deep and

it seemed that you left me hollow.

They stood outside my window with

frosted bark armored against the biting wind

and shuddered,

scraping against the frozen glass.

I imagined live green burrowed beneath the winter brown

and buds for new leaves tucked in until spring

as the branches creaked and tangled together.