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Ephemera from Text Messages to Myself

Toadstools, bees, & a magic swan

hidden in bracken, laced with fairy lights.


Dried vines like ropey arms pull the traveler

to a fairytale castle of standing stones.


Wind chime, bell, & banjo trill the wish

in a heartfelt locket holding an oval

of a doll’s Stonehenge

on a slim black ribbon.


What about the marvelous

spyglass?


What about the pocket

watches of friends

from one-hundred years ago?


What about their portraits

in black-ink splotches on antique paper?


What could be finer than walking

hand in hand with the dead?

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