Bosca Dubh

Now that we are all dead, no matter.
Snow recedes from the trees,
hulls of hemisphere where the trunks go in,
and we’ve come back to the den where we spent our
children’s lives playing games that were extinct
in foreign languages we’d forgotten how to speak.

Old People’s Holiday by Mary Kinzie

Now see these:

• cold from myphotosqure
• Ghost Ship from Jim Duggan
• Dawn, 5th March 2009 from Tristan Campbell