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Created on: May 21, 2008
traces
i am spared the firetraps
of southern wyoming;
sagebrush lighting over
desert flats, singeing traces
for archaeologists to brush
away at . . .
come august,
my bones will be white and naked
and scattered for passersby to
wonder at . . .
while my heart, sculpted of ash,
awaits the prairie's exhale
to drop me, dust, at your feet.
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