john mann poems

smoke 'em if you got 'em

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Posted on March 5, 2015 by johnmannpoems
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The Shortest Day of the Year

Dawn is an orange blur

in mist.  Stories flicker

beyond the fire.  Whose

body stretches its feet

across the creek?  The frozen

arms of spruce caress

your face.  Three deer

move like ghosts

along the ridge.

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