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Last night's news expired

with a snap of snowload

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on wires. Now, I tune my ear

to juncos at the feeder,

my nose to the thin rasp

of pine smoke as you stoke

the stove, the savor of beans

stirred slowly in an iron pot.

Two loaves are rising

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on the hearth. We'll read

old books by lantern light,

and lift a candlestick

up the stairs to bed.

Tonight the world's so far

away, so snug about us.