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Funerale

by James Walton (follow)
I donít know what to say
when I find a strand of your hair
over a chair like a ribbon
or the silk that holds me for a second
walking between the old orchard trees

I lay it back in place there
youíd laugh over that fastidious detail
how it must be undisturbed
and you would slightly bite my shoulder
as I came back up to protest

all elocution compressed in that nibble
sometimes waking not realizing the cat sighs
in the crossways where you dreamed
one day sheíll have to know
but I donít know what to say


Monet - Weeping Willow
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