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home

garner these truths
these fragile provisions
of where
(and I was)
but a sail on the sky
tethered by something
much older
than reason
waters set free
are pulling me nigh

across
to remember
another time (passing)
fitted my breast
the darkest of quills
thicker than moss
these graces of sorrow
soars as I know
I have
(and I will)

store to my being
one more returning –
as flashes
where scars used to be
bury my home
deep (for my finding)
skies once I wandered
my way
back to thee

. . .

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