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by Betania Tesch

My feet are anchored
to the cracking, peeling ground
of hopes long gone,
and I am scratching off
your name in the sand
at the end of a long list
slowly shifting in the winds
of my memory.

You are returning
to this unnatural dust
as I wait for
the hard rain of my regret
to fall across the plane
and drown you
before you can soak it all in.


Author's Note: is it real?

Posted on 06/02/2005
Copyright © 2020 Betania Tesch

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