i never told you about the day in april
when i stood before the train tracks
and stepped back at the thought of you
these days, salvation is stashed behind
the cellar door
no kissing wrists
no whispering: beat on, little boat
dimensions bloom or collapse at the encounter of love
symbiotically corrosive
treacherous healing
what was, today, is but a lump of concrete
thereupon: wildflowers gently dozing.
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