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day 474: December poem

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But who will catch me?

I’ve felt the most held on a mountain,
contained in silence.
The gentle light of yet another snow;
the hopeful smell of wood stove on my clothes.
And utterly alone.
Still, afraid to scream,
every day a waking dream.
Or was the light blue?

True to me is true to you,
Miles Davis muse.
Empty kisses thrown in a room.
Parents waiting eagerly for news.
Look but don’t touch your love’s perfume.
I am asking – who will catch me now?
Who will save me before I drown?
Or will you banish me to silence.

The gentle light of yet another snow;
the hopeful smell of wood stove on my clothes.
And utterly alone.

Om Gum Shrim Maha Lakshmiyei Swaha

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