7 Across
by CL Bledsoe
A shaky light reminiscent of a streetlight
blown by snowy winds.
Ground blanketed with snow frozen
hard like white mud.
A breath.
A thudding just under the wind
that may be an alarm, somewhere
beyond the highway, or a tree branch
whipping in the wind. The smell of perfume,
just under the sharp cold.
You remember the brand.
It's something you haven't smelled in years.
A face you can't recall.
Posted over on Ken*Again
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