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He Stares Through Murky Seasurface. 

and feels the burning shiver of saltwind against his naked ringfinger.
3 DAYS GONE, and time should be going faster than this.

Dear Love, (he writes a mental letter)

I Miss You.
saltwind meets glassy glance and births salt-tears.
I Miss You I Miss You and I Miss the picnic and your white dress of lace and the way the sun shone that day and how you smelled of sweet vanilla in the shadow of the birch tree.
The ship teeters back and forth, and he grabs the top bar of the railing.

I Miss your smile, and how your face foresees the day (remember august 12?)
I Miss the softness of your Brown curls.

Speaking of...

  • A poem by Paula Dutcher.


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