We called out once the afternoon
Unable to rise from tired blankets
That so separated our fallen backs from the ground
So very deeply tinged lilac and golden baby powder
You reached skyward to the heavens
Arms measured carefully along the other
My voice aloud counting the wind
That crept so slow along the flatland
An artifice
But it is not that it is a sad day,
It is that yesterday is a new home
And we are filled with warm thoughts
And fresh, pungent, still desire
And we listen to the one song
That remains still the air
An able, abiding whisper.
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