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The flowers that grow
here, in a vase,
have been stolen
from their earth;

have left
worlds of fields
and woods and dales


I cannot tell
you what’s in my heart;
your eyes
dam up the words
in my mouth;
leave missed metaphors
to form ice crystals
upon my skin.

Spelunking my way
with nights of eyes

open wide

in the dark,

I look for ways out
of my rootless world.


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