Here's an excerpt:
Black branches, rinsed with rain,
their blossoms a cross of dogwood
and magnolia, so bright at dusk
[...]
could reach you? I might as well
have spilled the ink on water,
watched it swirl and disappear. Besides, I was young in the dream,
too young to know how death would take your name like ink,
make of it strange crossings, unearthly black-branched trees
[...]
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