(Jennifer, your cemetery poem. Talia, you're right. Sometimes you just have to let them go, as in, it still doesn't say what it wants to, but life goes on.)
Hand to me again the evening
We dove into the woods
The cliff hanging like
God’s billboard
Silence dripping
Inside the cathedral of pines
Grey wolves patrolling the alleys
Black bears ravaging red berries
You pulled me out of the dead city
Into creeping myrtle sidewalks
The sinking yellow sunset illuminated
A twinkling purple bloom
A labyrinth of nameless streets wandered
Unmarked potholed tombs
The lone street sign a cross
Of metal fence posts
Jos. Schick, 1894, citrus bouquet reeking
A yellow lemon, a green lime
The forest city melted behind us
These woods will someday be mine
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