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To remember is to

melt into the neon honey

of the setting sun.

To feel the tender chill of the ocean’s edge

zip through your body

and release into the night.

The knowing, burly and generous like a sycamore root.

Disguised as a hummingbird, quick and fleeting.

It sips nectar in bliss

then dashes without notice.

Its absence is peculiar.

Something is not right, but we can’t name it.

We move through the days as if clomping through jello.

Then whoosh!

The tide scoops us up and we’re swirling through honey once again.


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