sitting up in bed
knowing sleep will
become me--eyes try
to remain open--to try
to read words of another poet
i fall asleep, book's words
pressed like precious violets,
against my chest--
only to awake at midnight,
book not altered, still open
to the page, to the line
that would begin
my still bright
longing
into dawn
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| words/photo of grape hyacinth~kate lamberg (c) '15~kath*odes |
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