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for mine

On either pole of the earth
one is against the sun so that
days and nights are grouped.
For you I think of
half a year of night.
Eventually you'd go numb
and gestures from those close by
might shrink and roll away as if
dropped on cold iron, accumulating
as snow
becoming hard and broken under
the first October freeze.

Next time you're lonely find
a wisteria in an empty area
for anything (anything) and
perhaps, brushing against
its tendrils
(they will snag on your clothing,
clutching — remember
this is physics only)
remind yourself:
loneliness is merely a product of
Tell this to yourself at Christmas
and, too, when you point out to yourself
romantic lighting or a full moon:
tell it to yourself until it loses

I prefer to think of the end when
at first light
you are defined with the horizon.
And, having softened with the warmth
my gestures shrunken
at your feet soften too
and rise as steam:
I like to think they will find your pores
and become your breath.
Perhaps in my new life
there might be a blink, a shudder
as, when neither of us is ready
we become more than
me and

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