January

January

January by John Updike

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The days are short,
The sun a spark,
Hung thin between
The dark and dark.

Fat snowy footsteps
Track the floor.
Milk bottles burst
Outside the door.

The river is
A frozen place
Held still beneath
The trees of lace.

The sky is low.
The wind is gray.
The radiator
Purrs all day.

Letterform Archive

Letterform Archive

Kurt Vonnegut

Kurt Vonnegut

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