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Drinking coffee, reading poetry,
Smoke ascending to the ceiling,
Looking to escape
My protection from the weather,
My shelter from the wind.
Bumping into paint and plaster,
Trapped within my sanctuary,
Deflected from its aspiration,
Dissipates, but gifts us with
Its lingering aroma,
Calling all to recognize
Its unforgotten presence,
Unobserved but obvious.Air is shared by memory
Of burning leaf and meditation.
Rick Deering |
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