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  • The Shape of Touch

    As I sit, or lie
    With implement in hand
    Waiting for the settling
    To calm the unsettled mind
    Random, yes   and not
    Folding the images into
    Precise corners

    Feel my obtuse text as
    It permeates the dark water
    No anchor to drag
    Where the gloam awaits
    No glimmer, no sign
    For the phantom camera
    To focus attention
    On original beauty

    So we wait and listen
    While the pools collect
    From drizzle to deluge
    And finally form

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