The man who has climbed a tree
waits in the branches with clouds
for time to come back
and pick up its minutes
The meeting won’t start
without him
and he’ll keep his distance
through the swarming snow
*
In the house, looking out
at winter's storm,
others have confirmed
the plausible
You imagine things
as they truly are,
embarrassing and harsh
You are white linen,
a tattered moon patch
on a black tree limb
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