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Tara Dole

Peering out from my new front porch after the last that 

brought only bright nights and dark days, I watched 

lightning spread across the cloud-ridden sky, its deep, 

wine-purple hues flashing into

cobalts, brilliant hot whites, lavenders, azures . . .

I had once composed fleeting messages to a

partner that was never meant to become—

I shared the awe of rare weather’s wonders 

that painted love letters in silver ink,

but that was just an ill-fated entanglement, 

looking up, longing for a dreamy future.

I could never rescind how I felt then,

nor would I ever want to erase it—

rose-colored stumbles led me to gentler arms 

where I have found brighter things were in store 

than that darkness and heartache before.

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