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Young
July 12, 2008
I tried writing you down in permanent ink
The words are pressed flowers
To the Amazon.
You were there and then not there
Young in the way of horses
Of snow-melt streams.
We were
Lost and found together
Playing Eve
Thought that I could steal your ribs
That you would follow me
Out of paradise.
Slipped and twisted
A newborn snake
In the silver green dress
Young in the way of
Sweet pea shoots
Of robin’s egg blue.
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