... For Betty
spring night owls
dream i can’t quite wake from
beautiful interlude
spirit grain
rice slippery
pavement warm
gray nights
all bound up
with what
will she write
tomorrow
ever again
queqeg
in a storm-tossed
journey
trading breadfruit
for wine
bouncing balls
and
friendship
for short staccato forgiveness
of madness
silent growing
so nearly gone
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