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Epiphany
by Graham Everett

Ice seals the birdbath. Rhododendron's
leaf frightened tight like bats asleep
beneath star-filled sky dropping cold
temps like bombs on Baghdad. Hey, you
don’t need the weather channel to know
which way winter’s winds blow

Without a calendar we’d forget what to call these days
when wind chill factors put a limp in our marrow

A palm flat to the window pane feels the fragile flesh
Let’s chill. We can’t get this house much warmer

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