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When my unusual became routine.
And they came as dew to the
morning petals. As noon when
the markets settle.
Coy, the ever shifting focus of
millennial streams. The eclectic
dreams that we chase in never
ending stupor we deem.
When these ripples, purposeful
and willful, seep into my
pulse like an impatient
sculptor. That grace, that in
generations wane, will wax
when, ever hopeful, I see
you in an ever after.

11/24/18