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Instead
Water's leaking into the basement
through mortar, dark in the dark,
like tears,
like the house is in pain.
*
She sleeps most of the time, or else
she's trembling with palsy — but to me
she has grown more beautiful. How can it be other . . .
Her green eyes shine —
How can she be dying, who fills the bottle
at will, who
when we make love grows warmer and warmer
in my hands?
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©2001
David Dodd Lee and Nerve.com
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