by Len Kuntz
She has a breeze in her eyes
shifting like sheer fog.
We lay on the porch,
our chins collected.
We take turns staring.
If not for her I would be somewhere else,
my words weaker,
too pliant.
Her laughter lifts light to the sooty clouds.
They don’t part.
Instead they send down winged angels,
one taking residence on her shoulder,
looking so pleased to be there,
as am I,
all of us in desperate need of each other’s sustenance.
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