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Conversations in a Park

Back through the tunnels
of time with words
that erase fourteen years
as though they were sketched in pencil,

I paint pictures
for you in pastels
of the days I spent
without your touch–
smudge the outlines
of faces and events with Kleenex;
soft focus the waste
of a heart set free
from its moorings.

You are quiet with confession
and little rivers of regret
run down my face.

We return to the scene of our crimes–
dig up old emotions
like archeological clues.

Safe in the circle
of each other’s arms–

watered by rain–
this is the place
where fossils
grow back into dinosaurs.

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