He dreamt he was walking
a street he’d
walked earlier that day
That smelled of spruce
trees that weren’t there
Just twigs bundled
at the road
In the dream there were
no twigs so he followed
the road’s curved shoulder
down to a park
Where dusty leaves circled
a tall blue spruce
waist high
instead of needles
That chipped like dry
strips of skin, til one
with patterned scratches
touched his fingers
The scratches formed 5
letters which made a
word that spelled a name
The name it spelled was
her name
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