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Perfect Intentions I meant to come to you in spring to hear the river crack cocoon of ice, to see red-headed crocus crest and bloom inside the pink of may. And then, I meant to come in fall and watch the screaming leaves cremate in charcoal pyre of sacrifice bereft of burning witch or saint. I meant to come in winter too for conversation's frozen breath assailing us in tiny shards of ice and truth. It has been summer now for days all things are melted, pliant, soft except your face and stiffened arms are cold as Heaven's polar plate I meant to come, I meant to come, forgive my lurking at the gate, I meant to come, but circumstance, that thoughtless fool made me too late. |
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