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The Curtains are Relaxed

Fair cool winds,
Oh breath of winter airs!
Blood rushing to the tips of fingers,
To cheeks nestled beneath collars;
The movement of life hidden beneath collars:
Hidden inside and curled by the fire;
The blowing breath of Demeter’s forlorn
Left as a mysterious and disquieting suggestion:
The curtains are relaxed.

Jackson Martin

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