Winter Art

Clairity shares this:


And this:
Woken, shaken, pulled from the narthex
of nothingness—still here, roused alive.
I wash my face, flick off sleep, shrug away
numbness. I feel the flex of my limbs,
saliva swashes through my mouth,
and the air vents in and out. Blood
gurgles through my veins, swirls down
as through old rusty pipes...

Meanwhile, Vox offers this:


A winter garden in an alder swamp,
Where conies now come out to sun and romp,
As near a paradise as it can be
And not melt snow or start a dormant tree.