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Another Spring

Another Spring

Take the left-hand path, the turn cracked
by pomegranate seeds, deviations
a glance and a kiss.
Follow the mistaken chances, smell sweat
as stain of vermilion marks your heels
as you walk. The orchard blushes
and blossom, muddies direction
darkens the soil, the nights shuddering
under blankets coarsened by need
by trials of the day.
A fallen word would break
the journey, restore the veil, banish
perfume gathering your will as it tugs
on your fingers, crying, chanting the name
of a shape almost your own.