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continents 1

when i am strewn across continents
when i am not writing you
when i am wandering places you can’t, for now,
i hope you remember
that my dearest, most simple, most sacred
and most grace-filled memory of this summer
will not be,
the evenings spent watching fjords move around me like strange, dark mirrors
each swallowing the night under the pale glitter
of a midnight sun, with it’s arctic glow
turning thin cloud into silk and smoke
and it won’t be the shutters of ivy-wrapped cottages
hidden away in those ancient french villages
or the sundials, the star maps, the train rides or cities
so humid and crowded and all overwhelming me

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