It is a season of hunger
Of pacing cabinet to fridge nibbling
edges of things
dust on restless tongues
It is a time for prowling
Discontented stillness
impatient curses thrown
against unappeased dark
Refugees seek golden
light stories of far away
nestled beds puddled high
with blankets to keep out
the seeping cold
Crave the bright salvation of seed
catalogs, bulbs
bought too early piled
high on porches until
the thaw
as we wait for the sun
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