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The Parting

Following catastrophe
At wanton center of my heart,
Who should slip from ragged shadow
As dying embers dart?

Her burnished helm discarded,
My flaxen cohort marches
Into forgotten distance
Beneath a cloven star.

At this gold heaven's fading,
Fade reflected harm:
Once, let her hold
Firm and turn,
Let her
Face about.

She tosses back her honeyed whisk
Trailing petaled marvels,
Extends her feathered arms and sighs
In memory of tears,
Pivots on the point
Of song,
Puzzled joy
And twilight's passing,
Settles on a paling stump
And briefly takes her rest.

Haul out roasted leg of lamb,
Crack the crystal drum:
Once, let her draw
Thought and breath,
Let her
Grant a word.

“Good man,” she attests to my “Good woman”
Halted. And upon the fragrant night her voice
A peacock's peal to my now mourning dove,
“Good man, I have time to tell, before I round
Again, that some covet storied kingdoms
While others prefer to love.”


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