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It pulled and lulled, a long
underscore for endless meadows,
towns of stone and thatch,
a turquoise scarf--not sky--
what the woman across wore
that shimmered in my window.
But that color is yours:
necklace, candlesticks, paper flower,
yours as these valleys you'd scratch
under my shoulder blades.
You were the one who knew my mind.
Now in the station, at my stop,
the speaker says to mind the gap;
it widens terribly--you're gone.
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