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not our first winter on earth
but first with words enough
to note the day has ended
gone beyond seeing anyway
enough to say the word window
and what is generally outside it
gesturing to what day it no longer is
first season when language
humming to life has begun
to flicker the word dark
attaching itself to everything
to sing what day no longer can
this day in demonic grayscale
made vivid by restless naming
our insistent paraphrasing of sky
which of course is there too
it all is whatever we've said
comes boomeranging back
this voice we imagine at times
echoes some holy lost tongue
at other times a jingle or pop hit
excavated from the fantastic
damage left between our ears
no less of a lost world
its voice no less remarkable
for its simplicity or quieting
for its having said enough

David Feinstein

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