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A quarterly international literary journal

Bequeathed



By John Muro


/ Poetry /

I leave to you,

my only daughter,

this wedding ring

of orange-blossom design,


golden-hued,

and etched by water,

its ornate engraving

weathered over time,


worn smooth

as ether,

blossoms dissolving

into something ill-defined,


like love, or some other

wound worth remembering.


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