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I heard your voice
in the other room
opening like rainclouds,
the same soft sound
that has haunted me all day.
Your face is at the window, temple
pressed along the line of ancient trees
where light dies;
there are silences in your heart,
volumes in fingers curled tightly
against bloodless palms.
the rain will clear,
that darkness is not stone--
that sorrow will not write final words.
and I will try not to think of lies...
"I place these moments in my pocket
to be pulled
at the rush of noon,
the crush of three...
when tears come,
when words must learn to be enough..." MKL