The morning after
the world ends
I want to sit in this
sun-filled room
with you again
I mean in the after-
world to come back
to this room on this
particular February
morning wherever it’s
recorded with its east
wall of windows
the sun pours in
like a warm bath
it’s so cold outside
but the tulips
on the table
audibly slowly
open again
in their sparkling
crystal vase.
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