Winter, with each woolly breath, I lie.
I have been unfaithful. Wearing next to nothing.

I have lain in the Florida sun in February.
Forgive me—I was in another country then

and, besides, it’s you I love. English winter,
teach me to read the darkest page,

the one you turn just before dawn.
There, in the inky smudge of history,

the British Isles sink.

Debora Greger, from “Raw Ode”
Photography Credit Lynn Davis

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