Ode to a Kind of Winter
Nothing I love more than a wet December—
windows open, cardinals poking berries,
air like people: tepid and mostly water.
Breathing is dreaming.
Certain days, an eerily quiet soundscape
settles over Florida’s palms and . . .
. . . . . . .
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[2] https://www.ablemuse.com/digital-books-29/v29/digital edition/Complete Digital Version of -/Able Muse, Print Edition (Number 29), Winter 2021/2022