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twas late
for the season
berries and passion
before e’er another
conceived us to be
where the sweet
lull of lavender wafted
the summer
well past the turning
of (wishes to) leaves
when dragons hummed
at the mention of dark
louder than any
were known to recall
honeybee sunsets
cicadas when all we were
wanting was some
other reason to count
without counting
back (missing)
the swell of July
and the bittersweet
sting of blackberry
why did you go
when knowing I’d grieve
you (a little) this way
or write to your
(some other one day)
when honeysuckle
bloomed past the edges
of june
(unashamed of her
timing) –
her wasted perfume

. . .