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What difference?

What transpired or what we wanted to happen?

Dream or lie?

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Offering

Shadow placed at my feet

like a cat’s gift.

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Golem

Speak, so that I may see you. ― Socrates

Wet hands on red clay, folding, molding it

into the Creator’s image. Cheekbones smoothed

by thumbs, eye sockets scooped out by

moistened fingers, orbs tenderly placed within

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“Please come to Boston” in my head, lyric of longing, lives

divided, yearning to leave meets the gravitational pull of home,

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Distance creates delicacy

Three thin communication towers flash red or white

latticed, reminiscent of Eiffel’s wind-resistant core

taper to the size of a needle, thumb’s distance away

elegant sky skewers on the horizon.

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