where we can sit up
all night
the clouds move around
different stories
are in the space
around
every sleeping
hound is awake
in the bales of grass
and symphonies play songs
about abstract architecture
what about that picture
of you on a hill
its just begun to snow
white letters raised on a white hill
upstaged by declarations
your love and my love
flying over new york skies
mountains of biography
littered layers of lights
your hands in mine and
lightening storms,
low clouds
the storm front back-lit orange
horizons explode
like atoms colliding
dance along the waterfront
locked in perfumes
flashes from inside
captured by the safety arcade.
but memories in clasped hands
of a life that might have been
up in smoke burning leaves
for the bereaved and
is there anything else to be?
here with you
in a high desert city.
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