Three crisscrossed daffodilsfaint lamps in the rubble
where without any warning
I'm shattered by your absence
wondering will I always
blunder into this emotion
so large and mute it has no name
—not grief longing pain
for those are only its suburbs
its slightly distracting cousins—
summoned just now by these
frilled blossoms
butter yellow horns
on lemon yellow stars
indifferent innocent
charging in place
advance guard of a season
when I will join you.
Foto: Matt Cuts
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