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some b’s are meant to bumble

for Patricia T.

it’s not like you have much say in the matter:
when the sun rises, it rises, when it sets,
it sets. the scene may include an ocean

bed aflame with longing or the stark white
linen of death – and you, longing, neither for
nor against an ending, but longing
just the same.

and if it takes this long, it takes a lot
to wait. but you can’t really say that,
can you. and either way: it never ends.

just like some b’s are meant to bumble,
some t’s have to be crossed. you bear those,
sleeping lightly, just to make sure
t won’t be lost.

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