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patchwork

last night
I dreamed
(my waking one) –
a house
my ways becoming
and split three times
the porch
into the sun

the steps were broken
(all my paths
were worn)

held me there
one winter –
buried me
beneath
an ancient bough
– a stretch
of cedar wings

a longing
(not so much) apart
recalls another me
miles without a story
(coming true)
blossoms from a place
where once
I scattered
memories

. . .