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January

The howling pretends to bring on winter,

but the howling was there all along.

In the miniature roses, in the tiny bees,

in the glittering bits of whatever that was

we called the wind when it was spring:

(Oh, remember, Sweetheart, we called it breeze.)

from Gardening in the DarkFind it in the library

Copyright © 2004 Laura Kasischke
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, Inc.
on behalf of Copper Canyon Press.

Published in Laura Kasischke Poems

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