It’s vain,

to think the fires of Denver

would be remembered

in the coolness of Albuquerque,

utter vanity.

 

Those words,

cherish,

fell like the weather outside

to simple falling flakes of ice.

 

Here, there

hidden,

maybe.

 

Slipped,

between bed sheets,

who can find them  later?

 

13 December 2008

Dave

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