Can't Find a Decent Slice of Pie for Miles

April 14, 2008
A pool of water
In every crevice marks
The end of a season
When you were a winterberry
Sweetened by the frost
And for the best part of the season
You kept fast to the wintry boughs
In your candied guise
Until one torrent took you
And precipitously you plumbed
Into a sweetcream depth
Of snowy ephemera
among a bounty of fallen fruit
You would grow rotten.

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