• Vol. 07
  • Chapter 04
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Of The Meltwater

I am not that women in the puddle.
My coat is not black as tar or filth.
My hat does not have a feather on it
or a jewel or a bauble or anything
that would make me stand apart.
I am of the common, of the snow,
of the meltwater and the dew,
waiting it seems forever for you,
for you to slosh toward me
in your own sea of kindness
to reach your hand to mind
to help me across this way.