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More poems in refracted light

 

As a child I was taught never

To curse the rain, no matter the floods

Or the roof blown off due to howling

Wind, indeed never mind the lost

House as long as one was alive,

To live and let live, even if night’s

Softness lay in ambush, waiting

For you to begin seeing things

No one else could see,

A subtle refraction, pure

Stupefaction – everything was

Art and the semblance of art.

Beer for breakfast, oh boy,

Or was it father reeling me in

From wilderness of strangers

At pool side.

As a child is taught to make

The sign of the cross every time

He passes a church, or to

Make three wishes when he

Visits one for the first time,

Certainly not the last three wishes

Would remain as such, to light

A candle for each passing spirit,

To see things unseen like

The blazing wildfire of

A poem’s refraction.

 

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