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******* in the snow
outside my door--
it makes a very straight hole.
We carried the ocean
between us—
love spilling from our wrists—
too vast,
too fragile,
too little shore.

I reached—
but you had already
turned to tide.

And now—
we carry the ocean
between us.
If you return,
do not knock,
the door has memorized your hands.

If you leave,
do not turn back,
the wind carries only forward.

— The End —