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That year was a yellow deck of cards, shuffled dry, a drowned building melted into chartreuse paint, a clock on the tallest building that counted the rock bottom.

That year put up a fight, stood sturdy on shining pavement that sad on shattered rocks.

That year when bathtubs were filled with herbs for tea to sip after burning my love letters to him.

That year a played tears at the backdoor of my guitar.

A year that climbed a ladder of missing steps with wide darkness spaces, and grew pale chartreuse-colored sea-flower poems.