You

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You are summer that clings
to the vines. Of ripe fruit and
wild flowers I resist hurting.
You are a delicate bloom in
those misty mornings, cold it was
when dewdrops welcomed the day.
And there you were —
Not someone to hold,
Not time or a moment
but more.

You are never, ever far
Never, ever for a fleeting glint
of sun, gone. You never arrived
And never were you, in your
holy descent, truly lost.
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