Saturday, August 17, 2013

I received a Valentine in the mail
by that I mean that it was left on 
my car seat by the wind. But not 
by any wind. No. This wind has a name. 
This wind is Not, which is for the best. 
And inside the Valentine, which was not 
wrapped, was an oak leaf, cut in two, 
by a desert hand. I gave it a kiss, because 
it’s never good to speak when you are inside
closing your eyes,  thinking about horizons.
This one good, this one not. One kiss,
two. You can feel where the wind was not. 
This one’s good–none are not. This gift 
holds my name.

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