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Friday, July 6, 2012

There are poems meant to be written for this
and they are all melancholy and what not.
I only think of the tree with the big nub
And the firefly ring encircling us.
They chanted it all
in silent voices.
No need to pen it on paper
when it just dissipates in thin air
mixing with the still night.
Yes many words can lick the wounds dry
but the poem has been already written
so no more needs to be said.

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