They told me that you would be
Around
And that you were as swollen with life
As ever.
They said that you had had dreams
Of cumbersome flying machines
And that you and I had held fish
In our hands
As we spoke,
Standing
There
On the empty concrete highway.
And that over fields of tender blossoms
Crushed,
By our first brutal meeting
And flight,
Rain fell, mist rose
And my lurching, shuddering breath
Could not be heard
For the sighing of
Wind blown wheatfields.
Well, I look up now,
Hoping to see you in your solitary
Meditations
Grown calm.
I do not know...
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