everybody is
leaving hints
and
making excuses
the suitcase is
in the hall
again
while
an oligarch
sings about
leaving
it’s green
outside
of my window
the color of
dreams
the perfect
mixture of blue
and yellow
of the sun and
the sky
the hope of
tomorrow
drawing nearer
the promise
of a new love
closing in
like thundercoluds
in retrospect
this will all
make sense
the one-two punch
will not have been
in vain
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