You are as beautiful…

as an empty street
or as joyful as a streetcar.

The orchestra is now playing
the notes I wrote for you in the

margins of a dream, a dream
of correspondences that only

know the choreography of long
halls and the movement of so

many names. You have taken
me to a beach with waves hushed

like a child finally fallen asleep,
Here where the tide has left only

beautiful things; An ivory comb, A
tattered wedding dress, a prosthetic leg,

and the last dream of a drowning woman.

 

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