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  • In the night, there is a man who says he is lost but he brings me aqua and indigo waves.

    In the night, there is a man who says he is found and he brings me his lost pomegranate aromas and his elusive dates and the found water which seems so permanent.

    In the night is when the lost ones reach out in their poetry lines and it is blank, this audience, and we blanks have eyes. We appreciate.

    In the night, even lost, there are findings. Filings of found. The glimmers of the lost peak of waves. In the night, the poet gives gifts. The poet makes poetry, the lost one finds other ones lost, the found moment finds its keep.


    (Drawing by Susan)
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