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Heavens GateAfter the postal carrier comesat 1:30, I'll run to my box and gather my letters from you. I'll savor them before opening. Smell the paper's bleach and the ink. I'll examine the stamp and feel the weight. I'll turn the envolope over and over in my hand, letting what's inside shift. Shift, like your life shifted and I imagine what you might write if you'd never been swept in to a cult. I imagine what it might be like to read these Ghost Letters. |
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Issue #10, June, 1999 :
Santa Fe Poetry Broadside.