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by Laryalee Fraser
In sporadic drifts, memories
flutter down, like skeletal leaves
in slow motion -- fragile whispers torn
from the branches of yesterday.

Sometimes, your love-warm echoes
snuggle for a moment on my shoulder
before I tuck them gently
in a pocket of my mind.

But nights are infused
with the sodden weight of loss;
I pour my loneliness
across the threshold of dawn

and wait for your voice
to swim back to me.

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Copyright © 2003 by Laryalee Fraser. All rights reserved.