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Sometimes
Sometimes
Most of the time I feel hollow
which isn’t to say that I am empty
Just that I am not sure what is filling that space
cotton
water
sand
or a beach of smooth stones
Some of the time I am a god of memory
each moment collected in a braided basket wandering
through an orchard dancing
with particles of light and colors in the wind
picking fresh photographs of time from the sky
Other times I am a glass figure on a aged wooden shelf
shrouded with dust like a heavy fog
waiting to be noticed through the dirty window
I never am
but maybe that is my fault for not trying to make a sound
A lot of the time I wish my voice was just a little louder
That my words could form a meteor shower
Instead of a new moon
Every single time I am searching for thousands of keys
to thousands of doors
I have never really trained myself not to get lost
wandering after me
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