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Misty damp and moonless morn
travelling across the Susquehanna bridge
the convent on the cliffs
hidden by the dark
(I think it is a convent
and so it is a convent
in my mind).

Snow sticks stubborn to the hillside
trees all nude and tender
stand sentinel beside
the slimy road.

Halos hang round
each streetlamp
headlights sliver
through the chilly damp
mist settles on the brittle scape.

Horizon yields a strain of glow
grey against my window
morning dark disperses
into day.




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The following comments are for "Morning, moving"
by cybele





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