I know winter by the flakes that fall
and their edgy patterns of softness;
how they can stack up against the wall
like a crack to divide our world,
and how we can stand and watch them melt
like a snowman standing in a garden
at the change of season when the snow blends
once more into our lives and it's too late
to ask if we should erase the blow
before it hardens or collect the water as it melts.
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