Anthony DiMichele
Ring
the ring is old gold
in my dream I wrapped it in a dream~cloth
a tissue almost transparent made of veins and words
I polished it to the sound of an old oud
and my heart sang as I prepared it
for your finger
with a vow I had never heard
or spoken before flying from my lips
I saw a goldfinch disappear into a sunset
but my feet recognized it
and my heels stamped the earth
in a rhythmic dance
until
the dust flew up
in a circle
around my ankles
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