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Past Recent Years

I write to you
a letter—
attempts to formulate
my thoughts scribbled
on pieces of scrap paper
and the backs of envelopes—

promptly misplaced and forgotten.

This letter to—
words that will what?
return you to me like lost keys—
bears no fruit.

The New Year is no newer
than the previous one.
My clean slate is only free
of your presence; not of my
memories of you—

your touch;
your smile
your North Sea eyes.

And yet, I still
snare myself with your old
promises and resolves;
I still wait

not for the prince’s kiss;
not for some trite reawakening,

but for you
to emerge
from the underground caverns
of my unresolved heart.

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