by Lyn Lifshin
The screen door
shuts under dream
water and stars
fell from the sky
like wind blown
apples..
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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