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Naive



janine canan






I was naive -- when the rainbow
landed at my feet, I stuck my hand
into its molten pot of gold.

And so I, too, turned to gold -- all my past
melted like fuming plastic, and I grieved
for every taste that wasn't the honey of union.

Now nothing but gentleness can hold me.
I was naive -- but now, when that arc of blazing color
opens at my feet, I bow to its bowl of transforming gold.

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