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Stash’s Letter to His Lost Chiid ( Good Friday)

By Joseph Milosch

In the last dream before waking
I see the shadows of the spots
of a snow leopard.
Maybe I saw them
during a medieval
meditation. In any event
the leopard and the lion
drank from the pool
of my heart as the mountains
secreted echoes of the she wolf.

How can I find you
gift of my youth?

Everywhere the day has turned
into the color, existing between
red and violet, and my heart
refuses to embrace deep red
or purple. Do I dare
bring inside the colors
of white or green? Everything
is foolish, especially my wish
that you could want to search
for me or desire to find me.

How can I expect you to meet me
without bitterness or malice?

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