If I cannot love you,
I will cut you some spirit.
I will give you beauty’s ghost,
a portion of heaven’s sands,
to breeze through your palm.
Like an idea,
or a single jarring hope,
it might remind you of you,
a quick reflection,
like shapes in a street puddle.
I want nothing from you.
Only that you one day awake brave
and live out your craft,
breathing heat
on a rain-bruised world.
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