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48. The Difference

Old love
Is lost in sea foam dreams,
Dispersed in desert wind.
You are less a pilot now,
More poetry investigator.
When you ask about him
Bees rise in my throat.
That our names have shared a breath,
A light washes over his face
And he holds up his hands,
So silly that it makes him laugh
To see they have not
Swollen so large
So as not to fit with others.
If I had not sunk
To such darkness and disgust,
Had I not held an empty shell
To my chest,
How could we dance
So naked, slow and silent
In this lilac scented room
So silvery bright?
I'm glad to know the difference.

poetry & photos © 2006 Rebecca Lu Kiernan

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