She believes the snow is a mirror

Turned upwards toward her face,

A catalyst for the frigid light

Burning in the old, dappled pines.


She believes that love

Is one or two canoes

Drifting in soft degrees

Over dark, polished waters.


She believes the young boy

Carrying his notebook beneath her shadow

Is a lost star following home

Her wintry beckons.


She believes we will one day remember

Her cold serious heartbeat,

Sending up bright untethered rockets

She pretends are prayers.


by Seth Jani


Seth Jani currently resides in Seattle, WA and is the founder of Seven CirclePress ( His own work has appeared throughout the small press in such places as The Foundling Review, The Hamilton Stone Review, Hawai`i Pacific Review, Gingerbread House and Gravel. More about him and his work can be found at

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