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in the last
that would come
a southern magnolia
dusting the ground with her grace
felled by an instant
of uncharted treason
– who am i now
to remember this place

not far
yet forever
a night more shall be
passed in between
while we sleep
counting to memory
the passage of time
tis there i am yours
and you mine

held to each other
as soft winter rods
leaving our words
for the wind
a reminder of somewhere
we must have been other
to wonder
will wander –
to find us again

as pages
made holy –
this lesson divine
is more than a telling
how two became one
what of tomorrow
the past has betrayed
where will i be
when – at last
you are come

. . .