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laureline
come the path
forgotten me –
as rivers carry stones
with memory of an ancient
water’s rise
in streams beneath
above the past
sentiment of standing
still as death
before the autumn lies

crush to sands
this still old self –
lost from all that was
wherever now the willow
does confess
with rings beneath
and tales untold –
breezes to recall
moments pressed into
her wilderness

. . .