Past frigid air, definitively and dark winter,

the icy gales haunt the Hornbeams with force.

A graphite sky clouds thought, and sentiment.

On Russell boulevard, leering creatures lurk.

Passing from strangers to wet street corners.

Cars stay right on their cloudy track, unaware.

Herons probably migrating, anxious this season.

In evening, an Inferno will lash out and lick the

Mediterranean, until it burns bright, bright blue.

Bones will be stripped bare, until ivory white;

Hearts will mortarize, and burst forth like shells


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