Desire falls
In the lap
Of a stranger.
Without them,
I'm known,
Before them
We were thrown,
With stones
That skip
Through water
Above tales
That hold
Their weight.

Separate, I greet,
As if one
Meant two
And I
Were you.
So it's thought
The great lost art
Is figuring
End from start.


Heather Zir 2002

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