winter poem no. 2

there’s a certain slant of light,

on winter afternoons,

that oppresses like the weight

of cathedral tunes.


heavenly hurt it gives us;

we can find no scar,

but internal difference

where the meanings are.


none may teach it anything,

’tis the seal, despair, —

an imperial affliction

sent us of the air.


when it comes, the landscape listens,

shadows hold their breath;

when it goes, ’tis like the distance

on the look of death.

~~emily dickinson


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