River
February skies my hearth, wind whispers my name transparent, knowledgable of its nature. I was raised in this winter quadrant, the Sun to the horizon, and they said it's in detriment but I'm not bothered. My name runs through and is lost, but will find other hearths on its unpredictable voyage. Because I randomize, that is my fort, gusts out of synch. But today the Sun has snuggled up to Saturn, and I must see reality, fine as this day's...

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¿Did I Just….?
¿Did I just realize truth while caught in the motion, amid the rat race, the traffic jam? Did he just pull up his mask and smile? ¿Did light flood the cabin while I stared, at the dented tail of the car in front of us, and what always has been just took a deep breath, and then exhaled relaxed? ¿Did the past just say hello with a real face, no makeup for the show, no PR? I believe she just...

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Clear Roads
A bit empty, Vacant, Unreachable as clouds. Detached, At the edge of boredom, Unimaginative, Disengaged, The blurred background, A minimalist painting, My canvas almost bare, And all could be. That a bird might traverse my crystalized space, A plane might soar into the deepest blue, Caressing the mist, That wings might spread, New things could appear.

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Strange Riches
These strange riches given, Stand crumbling on the sullen street of times past. Grandma's house with its ceiling planks bent, A violent crack runs wild, the length of the dining room wall, Shut doors, melded to frames, Of childhoods past, stories kept, Flooded memories. But Scheherezade still waits inside Arabian Nights, Bound in real leather, tightly fit in the carved Italian bookcase. Framed maps of antique parchment rest about the entrance hall, Leaning on the walls, waiting for something, Maybe...

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Familiar Stranger
We don't know who he is. Some days, a misunderstood prophet, come back from the last days of his trials, when the townspeople wouldn't listen. Others, an artist taken over by a passion, meaning to write up in a frenzy, unable to stop himself, in some quest against time. ¿Will he reveal the secrets commended? His violin bold drama. Soon after, hands strike the piano keys composing his own pieces, at times morose, later epical. He tiktoks existential, wielding a...

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Pigeons
We still notice them, sometimes, but soon forget their presence. These days they swish more impetuously, in front of speeding vehicles, barely making it, overconfident. They stare down at us, perched on a myriad cables overhanging our city's space. Curious groups overseeing our bustle, the haste of our misunderstood time.   Poised on roofs or in the hollows of a rickety overpass, their plumped up chests point to the sky dignified. Then, a steep dive. In brief trips from one...

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Ballet Examination
In this room of light diffused Planks beaten by plies and tendus No leeway is given for pretense In space consecrated. Hands reach for the barre Religiously No piece of attire to cover misalignment Any lack in the labors of time. Soon, toe shoes rub in the rosin And left are minuscule splinters Shimmering in the grain. Breath keeps sheltered In the powerhouse chamber Near the heart While gracile turn out of legs extends in synchrony. No false jumps are possible...

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My Antonia
     A lovely thing sat around at home for years, quaint in a rustic bookcase, looking cozy on the cover, but probably difficult in its language of days passed. Unfortunately, as an impetuous young reader, it wasn't to my liking to halt at the dictionary's entry long enough, letting the novel words breathe. Back when twenty-something, mom bought me a batch of classics to read up. She saw me consume the dainty hardcovers from her Jane Austen collection. Bronte's...

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