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  • In the morning early, quiet, dark
    I watch dawn bloom in rose and yellow streaks
    The day an open page

    I let them go
    these thoughts
    to wander
    like clouds, windswept
    across the sky

    arising as perhaps a castle
    a tree, see there,
    no a flower, surely
    a face alight with laughter
    or was it tight with pain
    before I know them
    they have passed on and by

    so they go, forming phrases
    horizon to horizon

    and all my hurried proofing marks
    scurry after
    trying to hold a place

    In the evening
    Quiet once more
    I scan the sky to
    read my scattered notes
    hoping to divine a wider pattern
    hoping for meaning to arise

    the sun sets behind the mountains and the stars break through
    and always the dawn comes, bearing a page fresh and new
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