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Wintering, by Britta Benson

This little poem birthed itself while I was working on a longer piece today. So here’s my encore, my offcut. I like it a lot.

Wintering

Somewhere

between that glacial lagoon

and the storm beach

one thought from here

bumps into another

from there.

Most ideas

compost themselves.

Some however,

return

like sea glass.

Hagstones.

The broken shells.

All with a story to tell,

when I’m ready to see firsts.

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