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A Poem: First Night 

Spring breeze on old bones

a shimmering rises between us.
You have drawn juice
from a source archaic and aglow.

Through the window the leaves
beat a windy song. The chill air
brushes on vulnerable skin.

We cling to each other
the way an emerging baby insists
on air, survival.
Ancient, we are new.

Speaking of...

  • A poem by Amy White.

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