John Goss

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From Heaven

I drop pennies when we love because he'll always pick them up.

Ten thousand copper Buddhas. His curse falls like a nickel.

His lips taste of rice gruel and lime.

With a finger he signals to me -- be quiet a moment.

A year we sit like this.

When I finally stand, he is asleep.

I leave softly, our dancing done.


June 5, 1986

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