A Cargo of Green Hearts
wake me up; the ice has gone
out on the river while I
slept like a crooked board
the long nights transmigrated and
now the birds stitch clouds with thunder.
I dreamed of you when I was
a child how you came through
my window dripping with feathers and
maple keys there were sticks in your
hair and you were as muddy
as a dirt road in April had a vocabulary
without consonants you left me a letter
that I am only opening now
sometimes it take us that long
to remember we are only truly alone
when we are without imagination.
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