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Passing Through
by Deborah Russell

Beautiful forms
and dreams escape me
A landscape appears
the fragments of woods -
the pines and aspens
a confusion of geometry
These mountains and I
blindly composed
The noise of inner city
empties, as sky, of clouds
Sweet sensation is lost
among the weary crowd
All these lonely roads
towns have rushed
through my veins
The rhythm of streets
byways, remembered
yet, felt alive, beneath my feet
Innocent pleasures,
loves vowed
to last – passing through,
and passing through
Brief the visits, on their way
to some where else
Feelings; such and perhaps,
like bleached kindness
fleeting; nods and smiles
and a raven’s mid-day flight
My eyes recall scenes,
less confused and absent
of you and more serene
More dear, this breath
and dust of conversation
It must have been a
near Love, expressed
In this, breathing space,
my solitude makes pure
the symphony of affections
This living soul, its melodies
the peaceful harmony
not one hears, but me


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