Random
Rising piano keys, hand bells,
and wind chimes. Worn beige storm windows
have been painted white for the season,
going up to keep our heat in.
Candles, presence, and acoustic
guitars. We put up these worn words
to capture You. Despite my mother-in-law's
fight, the warm light escapes
beneath the crack in the half-painted
door. Or as our one year-old patters
to the back and grasps the handle to
go and see the new falling snow.
His eyes wide, he knows You snuck out
from under our songs and signs.
You've become grander and beautiful
now falling around everyone,
coating driveways, salted walks,
tree limbs and enveloping all landscape.
You will not sit where we set You,
but move. As we live, You fall where we are.
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