First Things

Eyes open to the light on things:
dim morning, raindamp air and open window,
only evidence: a pillow wet with dew.
Like a face that said good-bye too many times,
the tears wore a riverbed in your velvet cheeks
and evaporated.
But not forgotten,
the sweet scent remains,
of memory and of the dream:
a promise unfulfilled,
a promise that-will-be-kept.

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