Blackbirdan online journal of literature and the artsSpring 2012 v11n1
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I Leave

& the sky breaks into gray carnations
after 120 days of drought, while the quartz sand rolls
over itself imitating a wave.
I leave & the mountains are wrinkled
& soft like a brown paper bag that carries a sweating
gallon of milk & bananas. I leave the mountains
with the weight of careless graffiti, tattoos:
“I loved.” “I was never here.”
I leave the sunset, red & white candles on a wooden shelf
of horizon, burning until their braids
are exhausted. I leave their orange ink as it is spilled,
as it recedes. I leave & think of you leaving,
somewhere now in the sky with me, glowing with
the earth’s invisible halo.  

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