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On hours twisted from daylight, arriving into a home quiet of light sound and motion. Shoes removed to slip quietly through routines engraved at the time, breaking repetition for a small moment. Open the door slowly so it will not creak, the room inside is bathed in a slice growing from living room light. Enough to slip through, carefully taking a seat in place perfect. A cove formed in the sheets, edge of the bed where her back arches away and then closer again at the knees. Kept caring in sleep, delicately brushing bangs from her forehead moments streched timeless. Softly whispering to her dreaming ears I loved her so very much. Morning delivers my eyes with a voice and smiles. She heard my secret words the night past, imprinting on a heart.

Where can I hear again those distant sounds
wild, lime-green, naive?
Maybe a playground,
if they didn't build them so small nowadays

I used to think being a child was a bad thing
Sheltered and juvenile,
but precious, favored

And now every cozy dandelion
caresses my ankles, imparting
an indescribable truth

while their own children evaporate along with the wind

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