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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

A Winter Window

Everything is light!
As if creation was beginning.
The flame of summer is buried
in the ashes of the snow.
The cold has the faraway clarity
of a star.
I stare at my subdued city
as if Eden were sleeping.
Not yet born.
Treasures buried in inert
caskets of earth.

The wind dances on the snow.
I clap to the notes of absolute zero.
Inside me is a dream
that comes awake only
in the sensual warmth
of another world.
Where this meridian is,
are the branches of chiaroscuro,
without the rainbows of the other.
Winter enfolds me
with a peace only winter has
at the edge of its horizons.

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