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  Patrick Carrington
   
     

Johanna

 
When you come you are the rustle of leaves
tuning the distance, the rhyme of songbirds
and windwhistles, the arched rhythm
of bowing branches.
The sound of silk sliding
to hardwood—there is harmony to you
like the assonance of spring song
as it serenades the day and disappears.
In that way I wish to make you move,
pass through you. Be as porous,
accept and use me. Dance.
 
The stretched neck of twilight sees that paths
of evening passion are wayward, that accidents
are afoot. There is riot in night eyes
as sunset loosens vision, released
and rushing outward. Join me
in a bending
 
the way a falcon slams the sky,
the way this dark propels itself
to stun the earth in heavy rattles. Like them,
I want to jar you, hurl toward you
with that dispatch,
that complete collision.

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