i searched for words to bring this little moment closer to the surface here.
and so, with your understanding . . .
a rebuilding of a poem boris pasternak wrote long ago entitled,
"winter sky".
"ice plucked whole from
the past week’s stars all frozen in flight.
each turn’s a constellation.
that moon, a numb hound’s tongue
is there, frozen tight,
filled with lava of breathtaking ice."
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