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I leave you here,
the second before
actualization, breath
held like the grey
antecedent clouds
of first spring rain.
I tease you, first
a few easy letters,
gone at a stroke,
a kiss of something
like meaning far off
in a vast expanse.
Your upturned palms
elude me, a landscape
full of too much hope,
possible versions
of times and places
like fibers of being,
weaved too tight
in your open face
to trace.