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The · Word · Pirate


A sudden rush of motion

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If you aren't dead
this weight my hand somehow under
your head still arresting

then no low dirge of dawn
no dew, no just cut lawn
by the white fence
no basket overturned

I hear your lips insisting
we are not here
we never were

and what finds us must be forgotten
by everyone--what did you say--so fleeting
far below, bewild, surprised by your own greeting
--you would have written it down

but nothing now can rise or run
and no darkness of my pen
rewind that sound or sun
just a sudden rush of motion
by the garden

I watched and watched, you kept on lying
imperfect soil no worm could worry
but I think I might

for it is late and I still cannot see the night

if all along you were right,
if there is no future in dying

and there is no now, only then

I fear what we were must hurry
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