One Hand Clapping

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A cold wind that refuses to settle,
Rushes across raw skin,
Making the spine tremble.

Eyes stuck to the sky
And nothing but faint hues,
Gold through the neighborhoods,
White past the schools,
And encroaching black through the woods.

Phosphorescent specks blink in and out,
As faintly glowing green sheets
Drift overhead and about.

Hands pricked,
Indifferent to the course spines.
Earth kicked,
Solid from temperature's decline.

A cold wind across a bitten face,
Eyes caught on the sky,
A steady pace.





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