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You tell me, It is not the same as last year.

Both of us thinking the same thing…

Yet still the clock chimes faithful…

the half, the hour. Our ever present guest.

It is a comfort.

Things change, I tell you. They change &

stay the same all at once. One day of illness

you worry the world will not bear it.

Your broad shoulders that always carry so

much, that you feel must then carry me too

At heart, love, you are a bower bird,

always building great arches of sparkle and of blue.

The bright and shine that draws the magpie in me

straight to you. So then let me weave

tonight’s nest. Let my comfort be a rest

while I spin a nest of spittle, of feathered

mud-love and let no man come between this.

09/23/05 , Pressigny , France

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