A Poem- for February 
An apricate windowsill,
stone attested home,
a snowless cold sun
interminably lithic 
are all the mournful
bonds of solid delight
constantly worked over,
occasioned character 
pendant on presence
that is an oblique mien
engraved, furrowed,
surly by the wearings 
measured with yesterday
while held to the angled
thin crests of noonday
tracing only instance.  

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