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Space 878
March 10, 2014
Your skin was hard from celestial
challenge, like the waxy surface
of a too-hot star.
And when you neared,
the stalagmites seemed to quiver
above your eternal brow.
Maybe I was the moon,
rendered in shadow
while you orbited the sun.
But I thought we could be together
in the impossible silence of an eclipse.
Don’t make me ask twice
in the empty volume of space.
Even the moon cries.
© Elizabeth G., Marblehead, MA
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