"Looking out at the rows of clay
And chicken manure, I dreamed how it would happen:
He would meet me by the blue spruce,
A carnation over his heart, saying,
“I have come for you, Madam;
I have loved you in my dreams.”
At his touch, the scabs would fall away.
Over his shoulder, I see my father coming towards us:
He carries his tears in a bowl,
And blood hangs in the pine-soaked air."
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