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Silent curve |
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sliver white luminescing in solitude amid the black endless. Lighted candles float around you but the lake of night belongs only to your presence. Single lotus untouched in your drift, constant, along the deep flow. Here, river – a rushing of words, like wind in the bow of dark. Moisture of that language fills the air. But you are always silent. You cup your body the way we do in sleep, sometimes. White gown, radiant – an arc, tipped, as if a slight dancer moving backward, caught in the one slow breath of night.
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© Copyright 2007 Susan M. Botich |