Winter brought pansies to a bloom
and finches sang and sang while worms sleeping between our rooms
dreamed of nothing.
Mother brought shadows to our house
whose names we shan’t recall and by sunrise they were out
leaving nothing.
Walls rift asunder
by fervid muffled sounds of night crashing down.
Buried nothing.
Streams of dawn-tinted air
Carved trails of golden dust in the stillness.
Remembering nothing.
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