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Untitled poem: pg 139


A scribble became divine and there's a circle from a line

and the waves

and some treasure

and the fuzz from a feather.


Through time, like a map

cutting forward

circling back.


But where is she?

Found wandering through

puddles of colors and words.

How long has she been searching?

How long has she been lost?

She left beads like breadcrumbs

and glitter on the trail,

she knows that way back now.


Through a collage of vines and memories,

over the Mandala hill.

Wade through the clay river

and dry off on the acrylic bay.

Sun bathe in a meadow of ribbons and bows.


Come home, sweet girl--

You know the way back.

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