Ethan Fogus

Under the maidenhair tree
shaded in the bars of limbs.
In the rye grass we kissed,
and melted like shadows.
Once in the shaded limbs
I brushed her locked hair.
Now, I talk to the shadows
and wait by the cellar door.
No combing her brown hair,
and kissing in the rye grass.
Please, return this shadow
back to the maidenhair tree.

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