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Three Clouds Hang
Three clouds hang
from a baby blue sky
draped loosely above the bridge
that leads to Indiana.
All my dreams are in Indiana.
All of them.
The emerald lights that tie the sunset to the morning.
The thick furry men that would bind their arms
snuggly around my waist.
The rich fossil beds that would connect me
to the true love of my ancestors.
The emerald eyes of the Indiana men, laughing
kindly at me over dinner in a steakhouse.
And there is a bridge which
goes there:
it is long, silver, high.
And I want those Indiana men to lay me down
in those green Indiana fields.
But the bridge is long, silver, high;
a bridge for cars and not so much for pedestrians.
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