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Futile

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New imprints in the snow
as human feet sink in
right, left, right, left
one foot at a time
one bare foot at a time
left, right, left, right
making the snow
dance with your race
against the ghost at
your back
first, a slow gait
then a full legged run
your lungs taking in the
ice air
now a sprint
with numb muscles
frozen not by the cold
but by the ghost
frozen as the wind mourns
an ice chorus in your
ear drum
almost but not quite.




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