Leaves of past stories covered the ground –
broken, torn, without life.
You spread a quilt over the leaves
and pulled me down beside you
to tell old stories and make new
until roots burst forth contained
no longer by fallow ground. Not so silently
from the valley, a blue updraft
of dust and seeds and wings.
My dreams were the color of turquoise
and the river thanked me
for adding to her depth.
Strong current pulling away from lies.
Too fast. Too far. Too strong
without raft or paddle.
So you folded me up and
left me to collect dust.
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