I Will Meet You Again
through fractals of branches five points
west of North Ave with its old bars and
timeworn birds perched on rootless trees,
racing threads of time that have swiveled
a hundred times, following the burnishes of
your footsteps that
leak into an unforgiving
forest of one-way trains,
unto your chest,
my boneyard of tired legs.
I will meet you again when the umbra that
separates our planes is mellowed every
afternoon on the discretion of my chair
against the curtained window, every twilight
when my sleeplessness like a disease,
absorbed by down cotton falls in flicks of
ash on your storm cellar.
I will root a tree in my heart so my barren
branches when laden with cerise may touch
you in gentle ways from afar, our yarns of
existence like
the loose thread on your
sweater I pulled and pulled
until you vanished, the undone ribbon in
my hair I chase and chase until it completes in
the palm of your hand.
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