Sometimes I long for it, the simplicity of less,
for then maybe I could hold it all
and grasp some secret that thrums within

but even in this spartan season the forest laughs in shadows,
layering itself with a heady, needled light, as if the patchwork sky
of snow and tree were a gate, opened

and I realize, dappled by what seemed complex
that what is simple
is never less

and though often difficult to grasp,
nothing about this
is a secret.

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