Frost

Pasatiempo - - Poetry - by Sarah Sze

cov­er­ing my win­dowsill on a cold misty morn­ing. Carv­ing with my fin­ger a rab­bit, a bird, and a face, I watch them come to life. I see the bird flut­ter­ing in the air and the rab­bit chas­ing the bird as the face talks to me, smil­ing at me as it says: Merry Christ­mas!

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