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Love
—Bella Zhou
Love
for A.
I imagine the forest in sun. Sometimes
yesterday is a flower drying on the windowpane,
sometimes an apple.
I wrote again in the thick of June.
I thought of us, fast-pressed,
into the leaves of a book.
Sometimes I forget it is not skin,
but the canopy is so tender.
Sometimes I don't dare turn my eyes
away from morning,
a sky washed with hurt.
Let me dream of birds falling
into the gentle hands of the horizon.
This way I feel at home. Yesterday
a purple bruise crept up my leg, and I,
unaware, thought of you.
If you are a tree, then let it fall over you,
that light, morning, blue.
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