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I Forgot to Mention the Snow. 

by Jake Kingsley


Avalanche, a melisma within this breast of spruce, a moth

in sapwood, fricative affixed. Hiss, hiss--

a bliss midchrysalis, a drunken nectar:

bucking chaos and this, the quaver

of taiga, forgiving, correcting stretch of strap

and sinew. (If only our limbs could gnarl

and bend wintering so--) A shrug can feel

like an embrace, if only to close your eyes.


And the moth's conundrum: to hatch, or stay

suspended until the poke milkweed creeps

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