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Untitled (9/9/10)

August 15, 2011

even
blue sprawling,
cerulean over cobalt sings

like a hurried word you first
warned me,
announcing furious
some look of hurting could
be you or

no windowframe complete to break
your earnest retreat

some fire locked in that last part of the sun
that passes behind the evening,
coyly

slipping into waiting for me,

you forced that timid
reach blowing sounds at me
through glass, fair as the morning

three marks left there
triangulating what the sea already knows

you have yet to blame me

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