Gather even scant pieces, one finds
a picture more complete than it seems
pieces of us, mere bubbles in a dream, adorn
like trinkets on a tree-dance on winds
to catch the eye, and make the mind a pilgrim-
a journey to a forgotten place, one sees a face
reflected like sea and sky, only later to know;
it was I. In vast
imaginings come certainties
we can simply be as beautiful
as we allow ourselves be
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