Poetry Scrapbook
I wake beside the wide blue waters
which suffer me to drink them in
and sweat out bird song and mirrored clouds.
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Lakes like chips of ice scattered across the face of the city.
Each a shattered mirror piece of an open sky.
Kayakers slipping past the shore into the morning calm.
As the sun struggles to rise the peace is broken
the wind rises and the water's calm belongs to past.
A thousand wavelets break the mirror into ever tinier pieces
until at last there is no more reflection.
But the morning breeze brings cool relief after the
sticky heat of a tropical summer.
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Blessings folded over and pasted in a scrapbook
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