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Norman Allan
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untitled: now that the scent…

I.

after the scent of the beloved
had opened my heart,
I dropped my basket in the supermarket aisle
and sobbed for lost litter mates.
home, I close the door and howl.

oh, beloved,
grief is your comfort,
where is your kiss?


II.

what do we wait for? echoes.
who do we wail for
under the moon?
siblings, parents, pups,
gone too soon -
heart and "hold me" have left.

though I love again, I miss you,
and the moon is cold.


 

 

 

 

 

 

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