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June, I bleach your shirts 

and dry them on the grass,

the collars standing up like

white gulls on the lawn.

Ducks with tucked bills

sleep on the hot dock--

the sailboat spinnaker

unfurls in the garage.


July, we have a party.

We lie on the roof

counting fireworks,

we burn a fire on the beach.

The lake dogs swim for sticks,

the children from the block

become indistinct

in the green dusk.


August, you paint the deck white;

For a month it is a field

of fresh snow.

Nights are still, only birds;

we touch hands, but sleep

away from each other

under the hot sheets.


Category: My articles | Added by: Kristin (09.20.2011)
Views: 423 | Comments: 1 | Rating: 0.0/0
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