In the cold breath of dawn
the first green word
is heard amidst the steam of tea cups
the stems of leaves the scent of rain-stained bark.
your steps are a sound in my throat
as close to me as a stone held by the ground.
i see wisps of hair
at the nape of your neck.
your collar bone as you turn over.
you are a foreign shore
i landed on
a tremor
a murmur
a warmth.
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