David Krump
The Nine Day Ricochet (5 of 5)

In a dream this night I hide behind a young elm
by your grave, expecting for you
to spring forth.  Quite a flower you’d make this winter
gone white taut petals flinging wet light.
A deep face the color of the sky.
Every night is capsized like this:
the city sky pillared by chimney steam
and this broken rosary of stars that surrounds you.


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