Meeting
by Jacqueline de Weever



Sleep is the bamboo grove
where I wait for you
approaching along a path
leave rustling
nettle sprung between stones.
It's dusk.
Fireflies leap and wink from grass
in a cloud you pass through,
Your arms open to clasp me
your eye lashes brush my neck
and daylight slowly creeps
between curtains to remind me
I am alone.





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