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Light on Glass

I reached for gentle words, but I never felt them, as I touched the lines on your face.
Your veins stand out, a startling blue. A last whisper lodged in my throat, a forgotten promise that dried with the morning dew.
Temporary in its birth, and permanent in its death.
An infinite space in which you took a breath.
Your hands reached out for that aching place, but you didn’t touch it. Your fingers skimmed the surface and found no purchase.
Gone was your chance to know me.
A dance of light on glass.

Published in Poetry

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