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February 22, 2008
Dream after viewing photos of the Seattle Arboretum
oh, to sit on that ledge
to run my fingers through the moss
the thickness of it, the paleozoic fullness
scale-like leaves pressed tightly to their stems
a bead of dew on each, wetting my hand
oh, to curl my fingers into the depth of it, smiling
she stands at the far bridge end.
Posted by: Chris Clarke
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Categories:
Poetry
