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by Charles Carreon
Winter's the time most
geometric
When things, divested of their flesh,
Reveal the simple symmetries of bone.
The hogwire fence, its horizontals crushed
Together, exhibits a complex surface of invisible
Planes, windows to light and air,
evolving from each other.
The pure white rhombus of a salt-box roof
Evenly covered with inches of snow, rounded
All along the edge, lies silent, an ideal achieved,
Displayed against the mutating density
Of gray sky-surface. And if a bird
Were to sing now, its voice would find
No competitor.
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