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restored

touch
as word unnoticed
spilled onto my page
silent as a poet
falls to rhyme
of reaching out for something
take me I am home
here am I to catch you
every time

touch
in ways unpracticed
suffer me your truth –
written once when all the lights
burned down
years away and still
you know me
meaning unexplained
a place of nothing works
but holding on


touch

and almost always
I will plead one more
season
without cause –
a blossom bends
flush against another
time I thought to go
leaving –
but a place

where we begin

. . .