Runcible Spoon

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Fresh Eggs


I’m missing you like a missing tooth,

running my tongue over your absence,

watching the sun set orange over the purple river

as the cows graze along the edge.

I ride my bike along the train tracks,

hemlock branches heavy with summer

foliage wave to me as I pass.

I look at the eggs in my front basket;

omelettes sound like what I want to do.

Like cracking open a sunny day.

Like starting something new.