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Someone's at the door, he wants to know me
I am lonely as a thousand dark winters
and because of the deep blue of you,
the wrecked sea of you and me
and much to my chagrin
I will not let him in.
Like stars fading into the blue of day
the blackness that somewhere slips away
how the sun fire burns clouds into the air
the river that wends through lands, a stream no longer seen
a winding path, a deer trail I follow, the sun shadows that swallow
the light of this sycamore forest, where time is somehow lost
amid the trees of blue and silver contrast
beyond these woods, my eyes follow
birds, that fly into the sky hills
far and disappearing.
the day
when even the not so faithful
were tempted to pray
for the health of the nation
When first I saw your ink on paper
It plucked me to do tender similar
I loved the way your thoughts did flow
It made my own words seed to sow

Brave and bold my thoughts you see
To try to be like greats the key
But when my ink well ran its course
Emily, my devoted force

Can I love you now in shadow?
My thoughts are past in sorrow
Just take it as the wind will blow
Handsome words that sometimes flow

Your memory will live on in me
And others too, as it should be
Thank you for the lovely words
Quivering flight like hummingbirds
Dedicated to Emily Dickinson
form forms a bubble around the most profound things
tension keeps most out and that keeps the surfactant surface round
like a dogwood blooming or a twig dripping
dewdrops in the morning
or an insane writer performing acrobatic bounces
on the surface of the paper trampoline
trying to figure out
Rorscach ink blots forming images
on his memory
bouncing round in similes
metaphors trying his patience to the limits
finding balance on the paper thin
edges
the finite experiences
his imagination pushing him
to every limit
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