VERSE ON A FUTURE MORNING
Hope lies
Just beyond a windowpane
Beyond a moment
beyond a whisper or a
breath
Hope waits
Bare-faced and welcome
Beyond a needle
beyond a touch or an
embrace
Hope sits
At open tables
In beery suds
in uncorked bottles and shared
glasses
Hope bides
With eager patience
In watchful dreaming
in expectation and
memory
Do you see her still?
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