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  • Each time that I walk up this street covered with poetry, I try to remember to marvel at my good fortune.

    I don't always, but today I did.

    And there in the street was a page from a book.

    Page 74. "The Art of Clear Thinking".

    Of course.

    And next to this page, a smashed golden earring that was maybe a star once.

    I picked them both up and wondered what I was supposed to do with them.

    A few paces.

    The Lovers poem was covered by just budding branches pruned from a nearby tree.

    So I set the paper and the smashed earring amidst the branches, took a photo, and wrote it down.

    Here, on the last day of Cowbird.

    With love and hope for the past, and the future. And that exact moment in time, which is now.
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