And another thing…
Stars make lousy socks
in winter, the color of
snow in shadows.
Eternity is a threadbare
blanket.
Chilly feet need a
rough and fibrous faith,
woven from autumn rain
and waiting—
a midwife’s touch,
a woodsman’s tune,
a religion that passes
slowly, slowly
through the hands
of old women,
twining with
hope and tears
to comfort with the
warmth of
recycled light.
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