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 May 2021 Stained Glass
I see birds fly
from this concrete predicament
faces in ****** hands
I hurt and I cry
my hands are wet
on Pilates plateau
a place where bugs die.
You called me beautiful
And my smile is still here
I can touch my stability with the end of my pinky finger.
It dances on fishing string or careful drops in shallow water.
A deep breath in or a flick of my finger could upset the balance,
Sending me swinging again.
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