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move the flowers

cut out the bricks from the building

but leave lines of cement

for framing

we are closer to death

than yesterday

but the snow globe is still

on the bookshelf

unmoved

by the days

or the hours

kissed by dust

another flower opens

the tulips over extend

curling under

like waves

at low tide

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About amyleighcutler

Writer, dancer, vagabond extraordinaire
This entry was posted in 30 in 30, Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

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