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redtail_sept2012

numbers
and night birds
roosting in willows
crickets are crooning –
just past the light
echoes of where I was
one time too often
as lowly came home
another someday to bed
and spread to my quilt
hands to remember
touch not so young
I betrayed
kisses the first
will I know – will I ever
how many the last
will become

. . .

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