Condensed

 

What was it in understanding

That didn’t look like universe

Or sound like spring

Beside the still waves of sparkling sadness

Where I traced again your smile on the window

A fogless shimmer of silly incantation?

Perhaps you’ve forgotten

Or perhaps there was no perhaps

And it was a list of intentions

That made my sentences hang themselves

From empty silver-needled boughs.

You look like the air

And I look like the breath

As it freezes only to be

Mist once more.

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~ by Rebecca Erickson on May 9, 2015.

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