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migration
wings of courage
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her edges
Blind contour infused with memory and a Scorpio moon.
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sometimes empty
I hear songbirds and the last, dying breaths of the cicadas.
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unfinished (a haiku)
She is unfinished. I do not know all she needs. (I am listening.) A Blessing May your voice be heard in its fullness, dear reader.
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healing through connection
The streets are no longer empty but sometimes still await our joyful return…
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the lighthouse
there is no place here for the army of cruelty