Witness After the painting February, by Wim van den Toorn As it escapes snow leaves fingerprints on the roof, a crime scene for Spring to investigate that morning when it pulls up. Half buried behind the house trees wait for questioning, some broken by winter. Near the front door a bright shrub dissolves evidence but rocks reappear like memories that waited through the cold. Today, south is important a compass point for direction, warmth. Window panes glow like headlights as a car drives away. Then the sun moves in to X…
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