On What Hangs Around For A Little While
Unbidden
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| by Rae Armantrout | ||
The ghosts swarm.
They speak as one
person. Each
loves you. Each
has left something
undone.
•
Did the palo verde
blush yellow
all at once?
Today's edges
are so sharp
they might cut
anything that moved.
•
The way a lost
word
will come back
unbidden.
You're not interested
in it now,
only
in knowing
where it's been.
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