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If We Are Meeting, You Better Be On Time

It’s the high pitch for me
of an amusement park ride
scream reach range
to the goldsky, tunnel vision,
into heaven where
flowers in boxes
on my front porch
of my mansion
waits for me.
And everyone I’ve ever loved
who left me
is there to hold my hand
as we admire the blooms,
the slow-stop of blossom burst,
speckled color and full life,
and we sigh one of those good sighs
that feel like the world only lives
sternum-deep, muscle-bound.
If such a place exists,
I will be
so glad
to meet
you there.

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