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The last time
I held you –
the train was just leaving.
A pink piece
of twilight
was burned
soft as coal.
A whistle of promise –
came sweet
down the canyon –
for a moment
(forever)
was a hand
we could hold.

The last time
I saw you –
was just around morning.
We rolled into Beaumont
and stopped for a bite…
I remember that look –
how distant
(how dreamy)
reflecting on something
we’d lost
to the light.

The last time
I kissed you –
was two o’clock Sunday…
bent over journals –
some place
never been.
A dark stretch of highway
(and no place
for turning) –
back to beginning
we wandered
again.

The last time
I called you –
I suffered my longing
how deep (the missing)
a place
you once knew.
How dear
the memory
of roads left to travel –
ere time give me
mercy –

another
last time
with you.