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The heart that loves you, and

the heart that stopped beating


for you, each day they bleed

a little. Yesterday, the handle fell


off the rolling pin. I saved it

in the box I keep for you, saved it


with your letters, old photos, and

the penknife from Pelee Island.


It should be meaningless.

I can’t explain how


a man destroys everything,

and a woman still loves. 


After all these years

I thought it would be different,


thought the yellow birds that sing 

your name would not leave me


con el corazon destrozado. I hear them 

even after they fly south for the winter.


A high note and a low note,

piercing the quiet before dawn,


when I think of us. No longer

two hearts beating,

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