Harvey S. Mozolak
inside
to the hook behind the door
and the robe
that has been too warm to wear
its folds becoming creases
suffocating several August flies
that fall to the floor unnoticed
now makes the air bearable
the wait begins
in the snaps of a fireplace
and the assuring hum of the furnace register
under blankets and coats with scarfs
the wait for the outdoor life
where skin was enough cover
and trees were wrapped with warm sweet fruit
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