i lie in the grass, and doze, and dream
of things of past, of things forseen,
of things of peace, of things of pain.
i sleep in the sun to heal.

Slowly the shadows cool do creep
across my foot, across my hand,
and i am called to waking-land.
i stir, and shift, and wake.

i slowly sit, awash in pain,
in turbulance that wracks my brain,
i slowly sit, and see...
      a hand, a foot, an arm, a knee,
      imprint of that which is me,
           in the grass, a human form,
                ...where there should be two.
                          i miss you...

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