Poem for John Gabriel Borkman

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thunder
Precious, you said
and I melted like snow
dissolving
into heavy rain
sounding like
beating thunder
to wake the dead

My dead
my shroud
which I’d carried
over miles
over years
of bone and metal

Here
this heart now
is making a sound
of pounding
at your door
at your soul

Throwing itself
against you
like the waves
that won’t stop
ever
from ebbing
and flowing

Forever
only that
only that

Yes, I said

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