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  • Royce Breslawski


By: Royce Breslawski

Early snow falling from a clear blushed sky, doves, millions of them, cold and tumbling

as if called

Because I let these ghosts in my life, like

a drunk shepard passed out by the

open gate

Speeding down the backstreets,

leaving the town that broke me,


Oxidized the ocean blue, leaves rusting into

dust, cutting through the


I want to hold you tightly like a

lover, or a


Perspective isn’t tacit, you were just picking flowers, but to the daffodils it was a


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