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What He RecallsTo Joan Pond's previous piece      Still-BorneTo Joan Pond's next piece


I canít see you, 
he would say
when wishing to shun.
What could I do
to make my presence known 
Relegated to a winterís garden.
Fronds of fern
withered by frost,
and pines
with wintergreened tops.
Barely surviving in this solstice;
the penumbra of his light.
I sought clemency
while shivering
and seeking 
his sight.