poetry, prose, and other strings of words · 1993 - 2003
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Number 159
June 12, 2001
Clouds buffet ego,
Warm rains hold tightly to self,
Snow captures the beauty
Of a long remembered face.
And one day I shall say,
"Walk out of my dreams,
O sun, step into this world,
my moon, white moon
Who is most sacred of all."