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ISSUE:  Summer 2005

You up-end the mattress,
over your shoulders,

carry it out under the navy
blue sky, drop it on the lawn.  

On the hilltop, all around us,
nebula, Milky Way, Orion’s belt

close enough to unbuckle, the moon
a narrow slit made for pennies.  

I lay myself beside you,
cool dark air starlit between us,

my toes painted wet
with cold dew.  

Quiet, we wait for night’s balm,
against the wide heavens, small,

beached on a remote island
inhabited by unanswered prayers.


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