Tuning fork


She waits for someone to call
but there are no windows 
in the cool,
icicles scrub her hair
and there is no reflection but frost and grass
in the window 
which is not there
even the shadows have lost their flavor
it would be so nice 
to wrap her heart 
around another’s song 
her soul snags
on a bit of branch
twangs like a lone twig
a tuning fork
cries out to heaven 

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