Cry Winter

Going into glisten,
night-blended of course,
and in shock.

We’ll have a smooth one,
on clock sputtering,
spiffy weird conundrum.

Spies in flashlight,
dehydrated yet awash,
cry winter.

In totality blister interest
ceding nothing further
to the cause.

I let my blink aloft
on swoop of wind.
I love once by word,

so it seems.
Onyx canopy drenched in dream,
sliding at last in contradiction.

-r. miller

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