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Leaving Ronald Street

I cannot write
love letters in Italics
or underscore my thoughts
like subtitles
to a foreign movie,

as though you
could understand;
as though you could hear
me if you wanted to.

I cannot puzzle
through your silences;
translate indefinitely
the strange hesitations
of our eyes.

Before I go,
I just want to touch
you in every
language I know.
Before I never see
you again;

before Time
erases all resolve,

I will leave
behind for you
the shadows of my mind
as souvenirs;

as a compass;
as a street lamp

at the end of
your dark road.

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