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snowfall, pinewood
Kathleen Beach

this wood
comes into its own
in snowfall,
dark shadows
made light

the receiving sound
of flake on flake
folds within
a growing
silence

and air
assumes more
dimension—
as if the progress
of these cold particles

could confer grace
or something like it,
a release
as inevitable
as the weighed

cascade of snow
from each tree,
the collapse
of beauty
into itself

 

 

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