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at the end
of the year
i break the ice over
the fish in my frozen pond
ghosts of my
wordless breath
I could touch
the edge of the moon
hard rain, tough confetti
and tossed it down
It stuttered like morse
on the wood over your eyes
Then, as I slept my
living sleep
in the red cave of
your widow’s unbearable cry
Unreachable by prayer even
if poems are prayer
if souls are stars. I turn to the house,
its windows tender with light
the goldfish are tongues
in the waters mouth
the black night is
huge, mute
and you are further
forever than that