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Transitions

There is no memory of that which passed
between us.
Those hours are locked away
beneath layers of indelible shadow.

There are some doors that once you close
seal off and crumble before your eyes,
and forest paths relinquish form,
and succumb to verdant erasure.

Forget, forget
I still need to
sometimes whisper
when the porch light
catches your face
at
just
that
angle

 

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