Letter Without An Address
I heard you cut your long red hair
and ran away to California--
far from the wayward sunbeams
you would steal
as they ran between the clouds,
while I would hide in the shadows
from the wrath of a winter night.
I can see you running now
across three thousand miles;
and a thousand years behind you
I watch myself slip through the sand.
But maybe you would turn your head
and I would rise from the blue infinity
like a myth;
we would drink the sun together,
and the shadows of the miles between us
would slip through my hair
like the breath of a winter night.
©1999 Elizabeth Hebert
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