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By Jennifer Skogen

You return to me

across decades grown thick as forest


your face as familiar 

as the face of the moon.


You return, your veins filled with time

instead of blood


but I know it is you–though your body

has long since folded back 


into earth–still you, here.

Next to me. 


We have time. We can wait in this dream 

that one of us is dreaming:


your shadow holding 

my shadow’s hand.

Jennifer Skogen’s work has appeared in Lady Churchill’s Rosebud Wristlet, Green Ink Poetry, Bowery Gothic, tiny wren lit, Crow & Cross Keys, and FERAL. She holds an MFA in poetry from the University of San Francisco. Jennifer lives near Seattle, Washington, and goes hiking in beautiful places whenever it isn't raining.

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