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Poetry

sphere of pillowed sky
one faceless gathering of blue

shyly, I want to sit by you
but don’t

old globe come home
a blue-soft let near the cheek

dozer, I’m tethered, and devoted
to your raw and lonely bloom

my lavish need to drink
your world of crowded cups to fill.

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The Image archive is supported in part by an award from the National Endowment for the Arts.

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