Through the rearview mirror
the sun burst, red
like a siren, between
the trees

gathered any
remembered shade
of crimson

lowering itself out
from under the cloud mantle
of snow

the chariot-pulling horses
offer the sun
to the evening fish,

who buries it
in the sea
on its night journey

in the silence between two
only desire is unnerving

you are reminded of
an echoing tundra
by everything around you

Who counts the days
in winter?

Only those as quiet as you
can hear the pruning
of lonely paws

The world was not made
for those who go
inside themselves

who sink
and do not speak

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