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The shadow of the flowering tree, shelters me as I write. Children soiled all over, yell and scream in their native tongue. Fruits dangle in the wind as the trees rock forth and back. Feeling a heavy load in my rib cage, I stretch inhaling the cool morning air. I gaze into the distance and drift with the lonely breeze.
A wind
A ghostly breeze
Kissing stone foreheads
Before screaming
In my ear
I wrote this while visiting the memorial cemetery outside Terezín in the Czech Republic.
Theoretically,
we die from the moment conceived

Functionally,
we die when beset with disease

That space in between…
the land of our dreams

Where spirit’s transform
—our souls to release

(Villanova Pennsylvania: December, 2019)
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