Untitled Document
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Short of Discovery
My eyes stop short of discovery
When I look at the deep sky
My socks soaking in the wet
Standing here in the white snow.
I am confined by the ideas circling my head
I grow impatient to be shown something magical.
But I sleep each night not anticipating the next showmanship
of sunshine rising from the Awkward East.
I soak in each falling snowflake as I did in the past
or, at least, I think I did
The shadows of trees never fade to the night
and i am enrapture by their dendrites
while I lean and depend on my walking stick.
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