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Sometimes I Wish We Were Covered In Fur
No one would be ugly
or age.
Road And Parking Lot
Through the windshield we watch
the headlights illuminate asphalt,
as above I know there are stars
that brighten the night.
The next morning
in the motel parking lot,
you stand for a while looking at
all of the trees,
black oak, willow, apple, pine,
in a nearby field together,
green on shade of green,
tops fused into a ragged line.
On the other side of this poem
is a receipt for fuel.
Dream, Dream, Dream, Dream
I'm far out in a great expanse of water
and my wedding ring keeps almost slipping off.
My wife is there, somehow, so I'm afraid or maybe
She isn't but I'm afraid I will have to explain its loss to her later.
I swim in place for a while and manage to tie the ring
To the cinch cord that goes around my swimming trunks.
Then I'm swimming and swimming never certain
if the ring is still there and I'm so worried I forget all about the wife.
Banking
From the plane
how small the river appears,
even as sunlight glitters across it.
We were not meant to be
in this place.
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