a stream pours through
the empty sockets
of the eyes that were looking
so far far away
I will wait for you
she cries, like a dove
whose wings were stolen
and ripped out
she must go
with haste she must leave
i regret the thoughts of her
lingering
thick in my bones
she is a mountain
a solid in me that brings me
my heart to my sleeve
a dirty banjo
rests on my porch
it weeps for the coming
of the girl in the golden field
with flowers in her hair
and sand under
her fingernails
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