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Traces

Paul Williamson

Mar 01 2013

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A dream-clouded figure treads

the land across the waters where

lumps of our clay were dug

from beneath the green-capped sod

ancestors left in hunger.

While I muse in the shade of a eucalypt

a distant stone built voice

murmurs I should understand

while not born through her

often I see through her eyes

value unknowing with her mind

speak in the tones of her voice.

Paul Williamson

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