The Manchester Review
Tom French
Four poems
Poetry
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                           Snow Angel

         Its single blemish       two craters
 inside the greater                       wing-shaped crater,
 footprints of                            whoever stood here,
    knowing that the               creature of water
            and cold he’d           make depended
           on his shaking           snow from
            his shoulders          and hair
             and stepping         gingerly

                                 away























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