Yet Another Year
Another year is lost. Another looking forward in the hope that all roads would lead to the desired end. Another face, which had almost found itself as if for the first time in its own place. Only the increasing winter has stayed through a quiet change in dates. A winter more harsh than remembering the nearest things, more sure of itself than every kind of foretelling. I have been waiting for yet other things to sail into the frozen cavities of the mind—the morning noises of children perspiring in spite of the cold even as the grandmothers pray for their own...
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