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February 4, 2005 - A poem about Love


I crave soft-armed
cradle of you, holding
us dispersed on froth
of season’s roll.
You know so well
how to raise our
stopdrift souls,
lift eyes above
the cold horizon.
Like a puppeteer
placing strings -
upon his things,
with twist of wire
and raise of armiture.
Us; the shorebound
scarred and dry.
Tattered fabric
jellyfish marooned
at the bottom
of a box festooned
and waiting,
for a show
of tide.


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