anyways

clouds roll slow
over snowed in white roads and
half shoveled walkways

my eyes imagine
wraiths between the falling flakes,
certain blank spaces

skaters go anyways
round in oblong circles holding
hands of people close

the sun stays slow over
rows of lined up conifers
holding back the baltic fog

i realize i’ve never fallen in love

i’ve been wrapped up in it
ever since my skin was first knit

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