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there is an ever-present summer here
when I awake,
still seeing your face against my closed eyelids.
I leave the balmy dream springing
with love for the morning
and light

the letter on my nightstand is written in silver
"I'm sorry
for what I have to do.
Forgive me."

The sunrise met you in my kitchen
it was still climbing when you left,
long before I pushed back the covers
and emerged,
still shaking nighttime fantasies
from my head.
I found breakfast on the stove
and roses on the counter,
with another note:
"I will love you until the last one dies."
The flowers are dry.
The table is set only for me.

You're gone.

my storm vanishes, yet
these empty winds chill.
deep morning was long falling
the day her arms called you back.

9 February 2001