The Day Has Finished Waiting

It’s had a stack of pancakes
and scoots around the kitchen
in socks, unconcerned with the snow,
how light bounces from snow,
how we are inside of a crystal.
The day holds a cup of milk and sits
on the couch, legs tucked up.
Look, it says. The ice-heavy
branches make houses as they bow
to brush the ground.

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