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There is the myth that you’re never given

More than you can take—and that this

Taking will make you stronger. Tell that

To the pine twisted in a straight jacket

Of ice, every limb splayed along an axis

Unnatural, every needle limned in

Beautiful bitter glass the absent sun

For three frigid days has not deigned

To break. On the clacking wind I hear

The premonition of the snap that will

Crack tree and lie to splinters, echo of

Whatever future more will shatter these

Brittling bones, stop this too-weak heart.

2/2/2022