It calls, of course: a deep whisper
asking for the slender trickle,
to dim the corners and elevate.
To spread warmth, dissipate, cajole, enjoin.
Answer the call. Thin air, cold snow, speak
plainly about promises made. Dangerous rooms,
ticking clock—peace lies beyond here.
Life a tangled mesh, brick, sky, faces, concrete.
Very far away, and yet close at hand.

–Michael Lindgren


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