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  • I will return, though I don't know what a sin is, any more, in this age.

    I will return, blue in and out of blue sea waves, on the road, on the grave hair, on the walkways, the boardways, the planks out of the sand; I will return.

    This hidden world in our bold eye glory.

    What is the source? Who has thirst, what is hunger? Are we only bones?

    I believe there is a pocket of soul the world owns, and I was once sewn into that pocket; a place where I just fit. Is that where I must return to? The place where I am? The first day? Even my calm is restless, lately.


    I don't know what that means.

    Blow me a ram's horn. I am a jazzist. I know what that means.

    Blow it sweet and low. I know what endings are.

    They are like this-----

    (Photo by Susan, Spain)
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