Immersed
we don’t
ask
who entered
whose stream.
Take
my hand there
is no
line no
bridge only
fond
foolishness—
the bread
crumbs I
bring you
in
morning—
they float
on the
surface
water with
two
violins
un-
strung like
the silent
song
on your
lips soft
as the
same
hands I
crushed to
keep
you from
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