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The Augury of Death as Portent
Rose E. Grier
We talk, a meditative mirage, our decades of dreams.
We watch them disintegrate before our hearts.
Like a slow sinking ship being vulnerably gulped.
A resounding swig.
Precious bubbles rising to the top.
You go. Come back.
I watch as helplessly as you.
My love, I am drowning in pre-packaged sorrow.
No words when, pithily, a look says it all.
