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snowondust

I was at last
an eager breath –
the scent of snow on dust
a place of nearly nothing
how I felt
when you were gone
going –
which and still
I wonder now
but I’ve returned
somehow
in learning
none are gone away –
the journey
blooms with seeds
from yesterday

. . .

Regardless the journey, we are never lost to love nor us to it.  Where we are, it is……..  We carry love; it carries us.  Home is a place to which we are always going….a familiar we’ve never forgotten.

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