I’ve been thinking a lot about Cincinnati lately, recalling the first glimpse…
Not knowing if we should speak, we reached the end of the trail
and stood sheepish as denuded pines before an endless dark.
Low and sinking still, the sun gleaned grey beyond ragged dogwood drapes.
Only then, when wind ran through us like a cold hand, did I realize how dire
I was for warmth. Icicles were garish, still crystalline, though they too would melt
and drip like daggers steeped in blood. And though spring would bring briefer nights
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