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Sunday, December 26, 2010

White Christmas

Some years passed
since that first
February flurry;

yet, I still find
novelty in every
fall of snowflake.

They float into place
onto roof tops
and naked branches

and into our hair:
little and white
and nonchalant.

Like children praying
in God's mathematics,
I stick my tongue out.

Eyes closed, I trust
in the intangible
niceness of every taste


Copyright 2010 by T.J. Blackburn