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morning arbutus

waking late to unexpected blue, offsetting the red-gold mantle of the arbutus in the windows, its bark stripped like mine, in these weeks of half-winter; the intensity of rediscovered self–rediscovered self-sufficiency, or is it rediscovered suppliance?–in silent moments that will be carried back, over ice, to whatever awaits me.

there’s a strength beyond words in acknowledging weakness. if we’re set to shatter, like over-tempered glass, is there any shame in embracing the furnace?