Blackbirdan online journal of literature and the artsSpring 2012 v11n1
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And Night Illuminated the Night

I watch you holding one cut stem,
three thorns, no blossom—

night, a shade of red
your teeth trace on my lips.

Everything I touch and all I am
is thirsting.

When the rain falls
it won’t ask who you are—

a statue, or the blind man
who sees by feeling.

Rain won’t forgive us,
it doesn’t know our names.    

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