Friday, November 20, 2009


by Lyn Lifshin

The screen door
shuts under dream
water and stars
fell from the sky
like wind blown

By dawn deer
browse in
abandoned orchards.

Dreams blossom with loss
as winter grass
dissolves and I can

almost feel fingers
I won’t, that you

sleepily touch
my hair. The summer
grass of your dark

hair, a ring, a locket
of longing

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