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94 Morning Quatrains for Ynez When daylight arrived, shrouded In the pretext of morning Fog, I had almost forgotten what it was I wanted to say. Then soft air landed On the balcony Of pink and fuchsia impatiens, The ones that seduce hummingbirds Like clockwork each noon As the sun crawls onto wooden planks, Serene under shadows Of black metal railings Where warmth dances against my skin And I am kissing my wife Who is miles away Charting the delicate flow Of misguided hands, How automobiles clash As if bumblebees tangling Over a bright yellow sunflower. I want to tell her I’m safe, That I miss her Here, amid words gently colliding Among the countless seedlings That have now grown like children. When I water them, I say, “She’ll be home around six.” And they always listen, 95 Drinking what I whisper, Thoughts of her Sinking into their roots, As I turn them, I hear them sing her name. ...

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