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Forest of Desks
by Jason Fraley

Unwillingly, you become a memorial
for first lovers, a record of names
and initials the missing remember.

When students track leaves into the library
or when the green carpet is cleaned,
you imagine the forest has returned.
Other desks become oaks without branches,

trunks pushing toward halogen stars
hanging on chains. But night
is the ceiling. The closing door is an owl
flying back into the wilderness.

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