If she saw what touched
those streets, these steps
she rarely takes, that railing,
she wouldn’t leave her own
skin, wouldn’t believe
in the imagination
and its relatives, would
simply wrap herself up
till it rained.
If she saw what touched
those streets, these steps
she rarely takes, that railing,
she wouldn’t leave her own
skin, wouldn’t believe
in the imagination
and its relatives, would
simply wrap herself up
till it rained.
Again, as usual, in so few words, you conjure multiple images and leave the reader thinking. I realized this morning that reading your words each day has my ritual. Thank you for writing.
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Again, as usual, in so few words, you conjure multiple images and leave the reader thinking. I realized this morning that reading your words each day has become my ritual. Thank you for writing.
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Joan–wow, thank you so much. Coming such a lovely poet as yourself that means so much to me.
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