Bruma

Awash in silver stars
And winter's blue and white,
Minty evergreen
Blinds the glistening blight
That falls from clouds in pentagrams
And moves not once from peak to sands.
A stone wolf whimpers to the moon
From a forlorn hyperborean tomb.

Breath torrid blood 'cross hoary mud:
The sun stumbles and trips.
Raw fox fangs anticipate,
Crowded skies bring billions to levitate.

See your breath--the egg is up.





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