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Travel is As the Wind
by Jane Lang

I of the pen have been looking for you, of the paper
a long empty time. When our lines converged
happiness beyond the imagination took flight, and
like a bird, our wings spread to catch the breeze, and
our travels began

Together we wrote a symphony, tempered with
pauses and rests while we explored the
meshing of our existence. The winds took us on
flights of fancy, I wrote the sounds of the
journey across your parchment

Such a short time together, mainly on the sea.
Gulls, otters, fish to eat, oysters to pick, clams
porpoise and a pod of Orcas lazing like the
ebb and flow constituting time, our oneness,
the trek which was our poem

The ink has long dried, the words hidden to
those looking at our travels, and if they were
to inquire—you have become ashes, now
soaring as an eagle in flight—I wait alone until
we meet once more, complete our journey


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