Distance is a gift to those
who learn the art of sighing.
I'll breathe you in someday,
if I ever end my dying -
my breathing out toward memory,
a raindrop, and a scattering
of leaves, a silence shattering
on wet stones, and a faded rose...
Autumn now, I miss you Friend,
here where you loved and dreamed
upon my shoulder, and it seemed
that Summer could not end.
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