Wednesday, 1 January 2014


The days are short, 

the sun a spark, 
hung thin between 
the dark and dark 

fat snowy footsteps 
track the floor 
and parkas pile up 
near the door 

the river is 
frozen place, 
held still beneath 
the trees black lace 

the sky is low 
the wind is gray 
the radiator 
purrs all day. 

John Updike

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