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curiously

lullabies of places
we’ve forgotten
where we were –
gifted by the memory
of a dreams

here the now
of almost light
spills across the bed
ashes have blown
blue
against our green

remembered me
the same as then
and you –
the same I loved
came as night
and begged me not to go

beyond the west
became the wind –
soft against my breast
a northern sigh
of early morning snow

. . .

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