While you were writing your poems
I was digging holes
Deep in backyard dirt
Waiting for the sun to peek
From the other end
You were ready, so
I popped my head out from the hole
You sang with a voice like an orchestra
I was crying, I was spitting up dirt
Somehow, so were you
Yes, I’ll stay there with you
So long as you keep your voice ringing
In perfect harmony and rhythm
Like seven playing trumpets
Each of us floating in storybook-type something
Looking for a new one
To swim in and drink
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