February 8, 2008


Just before dawn, we understand.
You are a dream we must release
in order for this night to end.
We press our faces to your hair
inhaling your slumbering scent.
Outside, the sparrows let you go,
the leaves kiss your wrists as you pass,
the grass and dandelions cry
grasping your ankles to their chests,
their thin wails echo in the grey
birth of the day, somehow rising
around the empty of our arms.

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