SPRING AT A DISTANCE
when distance prepares our world’s whispers
knowingly in months
that have melted together,
books fade with old inks
words pass through doors to libraries
then only silence, the silence of labyrinths,
footsteps are memories,
handshakes live only in photos
wish a wish, blow the candles,
and I look down from my rooftop
my cocktail glistening with spring sunlight
that must be saying something,
if only I could hear
if only…
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