December 5, 2008...10:44 pm

your grass telegram

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You are in the wet heart of winter.

Burn these doubts in piles on tangled floorboards,
draw for me a map in the ash and trace
the fragile wires between us
with hot fingers through blue smoke.

Keep those warmths of our forests,
every shade of that stained blanket
of leaves a confidence. Keep those gallons of light,
spill them into mirrors.

This ground is still bare.

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