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closerstill

I’ve heard talk
of endless black canyons
carved of the places
venus took mars –

longing to reach
every touch yet becoming
more than a thought –
more
than we are

how could you know
of the color –
my dreams
or how far the journey
from branches
to bough

the strangest familiar
the lights
brighter shining
a course neath the cover
of fathers ten more

a drink –
made of laughter
our spinning around
left dizzy by song
we sang
until death

as the memory
of some other star
we let burn
no different now
than a moment set free
by the giving of name
to a sigh
long ago

became of the still
a place I will go
when the night pours
to canyons –
the colors of you

. . .