Freeze Frame
A molt of starlight on new snow
white slough over black drenched fields.
A window captures it all as a freeze-frame.
Glass reflects and takes my picture
through an eyeless lens.
Behind me, a log fire cracks and chirps
in the language of firebirds.
The room chirrs warmly like a fiddle in a ghost camp.
The cabins foundations are structured hollows.
it breaths through its long bones.
I turn to look at where I live, see only the past looking back,
I dwell within a camera.
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