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 Oct 2017 William Lee
Styles 12
Crisp as paper
  waiting for words

an idea
  browsing wind

caught up
  in a draft

sizzling distance

every street
  falling variations of fire

tiny eyes
  looking on

transfixed,
motivated for floating

looking on
wordless fascination

as paper crumbles
   and idea bleeds out

gone

  like a morning whisper
   painted by a master

— The End —