Poetry pages
number 3
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Poem and illustration by Anjo Lafin

As earth feels
the Braille of winter
with its tight bud ad speak
promises of better things,
I stroke the shadows.

They cover me with rest,
allowing dreams, as well as
mute disturbances,
the quiet fidgeting of seeds,
that do not even know they want to grow.
I close my eyes, my mind.
The rivers freeze and cease to flow.
Somewhere a spring hides
its revolutionary ways.
Throughout the murky days
it has composed a manifesto,
marked time with a coded trickle,
and now seeps through and permeates
some shapeless unmarked clods
that sag and turn
to warmer mud.

With the rhythm of a thaw,
slowly at first, thoughts begin to stir.
Soon life will be scrawled
in every place and I will know
it never left
the cool depths of this cleft.