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Halim Dunsky
We danced in the ravine this morning
amid a choreography of trees
holding this little valley
safe in the fogs of winter,
a scratch in the earth
perpetuating against the suburbs
a remnant of slow time
We write in the cafe this afternoon
Green stalks of gladiolus arch and angle,
dance in a rhythm we barely remember
Luminous red flowers
bright trumpet shouts of blood
move imperceptibly,
open, reach, shrivel, darken
at a pace so slow
only a lover can apprehend it
While we bathe in noise,
while we shiver, and vibrate,
caging the panic with talk too loud,
living too fast for our short time,
these flowers, gone already
live longer than we do
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