a hard sweep

you were the woman of that hour
midwesterner, freshening, your name
sticks in my throat, just caught now
that hollow of my whisper in the curve of your back
to me, leaves me shivering, so cold at the idea
of your eyes staring into a dark
that is not me, for me a lone cold void huddled
in the offshore breeze of forgotten, swept
away then my body rolled under
closes, a reflex of some long time alone
to the ink, an urchin prick of my heel
the point of pain to mend, I think
so that this drop of blood
to write to you now, my echoing words turned
from then, now to a time soft letters
written on swift dancing swept sand
erased in quick stiff whips of wind
ascribed so fleeting to the air, to you solely
in the chill of a sundown sinking to my west

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