Mornings like these

  

Flagrant shadows
with whispered
secrets come morning,
a fortune’s worth
of frost clinging
to the fading breath
of winter grown
socially awkward,
patient and
nonchalant
in the forgotten
hours come again,
stripped of their
anonymity
like the night’s
blankets thrown off
in dream. What
does daybreak say
in apology to
the emptiness
it leaves behind?

(dtn)

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