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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.


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

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