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beginnings

reach into
my waking –
where pages have been stuck
a sleeve of petals
held between my rhyme
guarded as the golden gilt
notes of scribbled
fame –
proof you were
another time I knew

verses
of pretention
seasons folded now –
are stored on shelves
I hardly reach
for more
tho once I thought
to understand
the leaving as you do
longing left
to pages
I can’t lose

hearts were free
to gather these –
graces of permission
time was ne’er to blame
for where we lingered
here a bit
save to flight
the dream of dreams –
another rise to set
burned me into orange
– lay me back
in ruby red

. . .

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