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Getting there


Saturday, February 21, 2004

You are the sunshine of my memory,
-when I think of you, that is-
lighting dusky corners
as we wander hand in hand,
in and out of the shadows.
Smells of musty lavender
In the chests of make-believe.
Jumping onto sacks of beans,
we jelly baby into gurgles,
nibble nipples
between old brown leaves.
Clambering over rafters,
Woodgrain in your spine
“Do you see our funny shadows?”
We hurtle to lands of adventure
and thump down onto jelly beans