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Feb 2013
Her hand untangled from the coiled roots

Unraveling from her closing wounds

She stepped atop the mud and soot

And looked upon the crescent moon

She shook while she wept

And as her arms stretched out

She dispersed into a cloud

That lowered back down

Into the swampy ground

And not a sound

Was heard

By anyone
But her
And I
Michael W Noland
Written by
Michael W Noland  Seattle
(Seattle)   
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