Fraying at the Edges

At least today, the world does not
Fracture in the middle.
It frays only at the edges
As thin garment that one has loved
Too long, worn so often
Memories adhere, attach as
Loose button on the sleeve.
 
December cold bathes the lake.
Capillaries on the surface of the skin freeze,
Break open in thin, faint ending light….
Reading of the fraying lines
Central to the body of the work.
 
Later, mid-winter’s thicker ice
Cracks at night, sends forth
Deeper voice resounding to the hills.
For now, whatever ice forms at night is slight,
Floats above a warmer body,
Disappears by mid-morning as sun
Changes substance to what matters most—
Water flows along the edges of the cloth,
Frays the aging body as it trusts
Whatever winter freeze it must.

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