Ground breathes its misty vapor,
Touched by frigid fingers
Creeping out of its sewer hole,
On its threshold
Frosty with each exhale.
Black branches,
Void of color, brittle, hardened,
Holding its pillory standards
Until flow from up north
Attempts to jar it into movement.
Each mile driven,
Digits cascade down
To my destination
The gauge reads -9.
Easy to forget,
Sitting in the window
As heat from the sun burns on my neck,
Sunglasses make my eyes dilate to normalcy.
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