On tiptoes,
you slip into the wind
swirling about me,
in the breeze
lifting my hair.

On cat feet,
you break through
the eggshell night
and whisper
into my ear
until all but you
wavers in dreamlike persuasion,
cajoling me,
carefully urging me
to believe again,
to open again,
to write again,
a pen in my fingers
and paper under my hand,
to stamp my heart
and ship it to
an imaginary door
where I hope you to be.

You sneak in and explode,
and I write in answer
to your destruction.




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