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Even in the Same Room


by Darryl Price


 

 

as you are there's a big floating arm that separates us both

from each other. Like a widening river, it touches us together

but still keeps us drifting apart. The banks of your new life have different weeds

and flowers on them than mine. But we share all those same stars above.

 

This has always been a kind of strange comfort to me. Sometimes that

kind of concrete circumstance is all we have to send

a sweet dream upon its way in this sleepy old world of slippery rocks and blocking branches to a

strangely beautiful somewhere else. Even in the middle of a

 

rainstorm of epic proportions we might find another road that

leads to a clear cut picture of at least a

familiar-looking face with an obvious enough heart, one that believes in going directly into the deepest, living 

lights clinging together. I don't want to have to explain

 

this phenomenon to anyone else, because you are the only

one it is ever meant to reach. This poem is a

kite, a whistle, a heron on a mission, a canoe with a secret note painted on

its one side, a  popping radiating lily sprung open out of nowhere with its own

 

gust of sun in the middle, a birdsong made only once in

a lifetime from one branch in one deeply probing dream of a lost forest. Even on

this lost and lonely hill I can still celebrate your shadow sinking softly upon me as I walk away from

home. There'll never be another time to tell you. Goodbye.

 

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