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Moonlight Sonata MAG
There is an anatomy to winter
two burning lungs exhaling ice;
a churning stomach, digesting
remnants of sizzling fall leaves.
Midnight, and a twelve-point
buck waits outside my house,
majestic, bending to the wind,
soaked in mahogany instinct.
It turns its head on the slightest
breeze, muscles taut beneath
the snow-covered down.
I restrain the urge to capture
the moment, pixilate it
some things are better preserved
as poetry.

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