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It's Not The Destination

Your ideas slid over my thoughts like water over ground.
I tried, out of bad habit, to channel them away with the brushing down of hands,
But the relentlessness of your praise wore a winding path,
Eroding my deflections, to seep into my weary bones.
We are, none of us, flawless creatures your eyes seemed to say,
And for once I did not feel so disjointed from the stars.
In the time between the hours,
I marveled at the way your memories and mine fit together.
They tessellate to form a bridge
Affording us the opportunity to begin again in ernest,
Even when there is no more tickings of the clock and grey becomes the new black.

(2014)

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