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#247

09 Jan

loneliness

at dawn
she moves with the rhythm of the air
her eyes as quiet as fishermen
she stands on her porch
and breathes white fog

by noon
she thinks she is dying

in the evening
she prays for rain
to save her again
to wet her skin
and remind her of morning

 
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Posted by on January 9, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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