I glimpse the tulips every two seconds.
They arrived late this year. Those who planted
The bulbs must not have considered how they
Would look from here—red, paired with pink dogwood.
Seven umbrellas float by; only one
Inverts. Ammonia swathed on the machines
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The boy beside me
is not you but he
is familiar in all
the important ways.
I pass through life
finding you over
and over again—
with love. And every
Afflicted by my
kindness, they leave
me with my music.
I loved you before
I ever loved you.
Jennifer Franklin is the author of Looming (Elixir Press, 2015). She teaches at The Hudson Valley Writers’ Center, is coeditor of Slapering Hol Press, and lives in New York City.