by Sue Small

It is overcast today.
The blue God seems to favor
Above all other colors
Is missing from the sky.
Outside the window
Near the chair
Where my father once sat
I sit here now knowing
He’s not coming back.
The wind outside his window
Looking for a corner to sing in
An ash pile to liberate.
In the distance
Fallen snow rises
Like clouds of steam
And a hawk seeks dinner
In the field below.
So much feathery intent
Held aloft on this clear cold
Breath of January.

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