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With mallard hope
I flew to places
tires do not pattern
tracks on salted paths
But now
In mittened dreams
I lie in a lush quilt
of prairie grass
encased in an inverted globe
with frosted specks
of floating sky
To know I am alive
I need to see my sounds
in vapor hung
to bundle up in layers of down
To lace white skates
hear ice break
in sheets of thunder on the lake
wild moments that defy forget
The seasons pass
to warm my dreams
I paint ice patterns
on the window glass
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