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VANYSSHYNGE / Joseph Harrison But if I tried to give you form from each, Dark furrows thick with sleep, seeded and stilled, You'd dream the thin green fingers' crawl to light. Or if I tried to whirl you to a cloud Fanned by my breath, brief curlings of a face, You'd dream the warm harmonic fall to earth. Or if I tried to channel you to runnel Framed by my ribs, you'd press against the frame, Shape me to hold a deeper roll of water. And so your love of change prevents my love From any figure but a plummeting stone, Cooling projection of your vanished star. Or I can never find you in the fire Where these clay hands shrink curling back to bone And jets of flame extinguish even stone. The Missouri Review ยท 53 ...


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