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Letter #5

January 19, 2011

I have fathered a child before my wedding day

wore the black before the funeral

and buried herself and I-

she was much too bright for sunshine

and I was  too poor for warmth.


What if I had walked on,

I wonder

and not lingered on that Lake

where she slid, gracefully

a muted siren

her laugh was wine enough

my need was a shipwreck

I sank for her.


There , southwards, our  seed grows.

the sun shines intermittently, but the land

has washed away.

Who will she blame, when her time comes?


I fix my bed tonight

fluff the pillow twice for good measure.

I climb in,   a nightmare

sleeping  for dreams.



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