On the Burnett Wharf

I sit right here
on the sleeping
wharf, river noises
catch and move like

lips you once gave
me, and what were
your arms like then
my golden love?

the sun’s hot glaze
portrayed your fires
those love-bent rays
from your green eyes

and with flowers
I filled the ring
you made and kissed
the green and golden air
when you had gone.

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