Winter sun

Summer is golden
butterscotch, January
skim milk, thin weak pale.

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Overlooked

Forgotten summer
umbrella aged by winter’s
wig of heavy snow.

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Over the holidays

Ate bad stuff. Gained weight.
Hate myself. Still, I think, There’s
always tomorrow…

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Snow blind

Spiraling flakes, like
small hands opening wide, feel
their way down to earth.