In the wind, swaying

but with less vigor than

you presupposed, it is the weak

fainting motion of your thoughts

that truly captivates. Now,

we must admit to being

less than before

in a time of violin music

and straw-bearing hearts.

Secrets pour through

the dazed eyes of a city

at night. Snow goes

gray and tussles

with the half-baked wind.

-r. miller

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