by Wendy Xu
Between loss and sabbatical, spring
thick of ivy snakes
a juniper tree. I intended
not less than six ways of
writing you, careful,
face turned down into a book
of psalms.
Night opens to quiet symmetry where
I will sleep when you sleep
next to me. Instructions
we parse, small nations flower in
your mouth. You belong to
the horse
that bore you here.
(via lunch-poems)
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