these are the timesdirty beloved
-

Why?

17.2.14

                                     Hail

Mary who mattered to me, gone or asleep
among fruits, spilled

in ash, in dust, I did not

leave you. Even now I can't keep from
composing you, limbs & blue cloak

& soft hands. I sleep to the sound

of your name...
Mary Szybist
Poetry Foundation

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