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January 2
54/365

Lament

Scent of rock rose
In the rain
I cross the bridge
Like Orpheus did
Trying not to look back
Stopping at the memory of her face
If I were to run back home
I would clasp
Her infant shape
To my breast and rest
All day

Lament

Scent of rock rose
In the rain
I cross the bridge
Like Orpheus did
Trying not to look back
Stopping at the memory of her face
If I were to run back home
I would clasp
Her infant shape
To my breast and rest
All day

Monica Schley

Seattle

 
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