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A Wise Past (July 1998)

In the month of my birth,
in my twenty-fourth year,
seven, twenty-nine, ninety-eight…

climbing my favorite tree, on the beach,
the one I first found with an angel,
my best friend’s nine year-old sister…

sitting on a branch eight feet off the ground,
forgoing the wish to climb higher,
content to remain where I am…

watching the blue of the lake through the green
of leaves trying to hide it from view,
before walking on sand, and then into water…

where all the world disappears,
and all that exists is the hand of soft waves,
gently pushing me back…

emerging from water, a newborn creation,
watching white foam cascade through my toes,
standing erect and feeling the drops

of water rejoin the lake.


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