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darker the page
this side of my bed
where sleeping
you move me away
from places
the moon
remembers at will
– as silent the sigh
of a dream
falling in

you must have been
surely not
more than this wanting
already the hands
have gone on
touching to numbers
we knew
would replace
the last with the first
a kiss more
to save

too many
to mention
of moments sustained
in the fold of a sheet
– an illusion of rain
could be
I was grieving
this loss long ago
when turned from my seeking
– to wonder you

making of story
one ending the same
as you spoke
to the dark
while counting
my stars

. . .