all I can give you
is february’s fruit
it will not be as sweet
as the flushed skin betrays
do not expect what you have held
on the tongue of your memory
since a summer when
all that could not be swallowed
ran down your face
to meet beneath your chin
but there is something to be savored
in this first imperfect effort--
promise
that a bitter winter
was not for nothing.
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