new old kid on the blog, with an occasional old or new poem written off the old writer's block
The thought
Of it was there, seeminglyUnmoving so long as you wereCaptivated by it,
But even thenIt wasn’tWith you all
The while, whenIt would sidleBetween the folds
Of your mind, waitingFor the next inklingOf wind to go
Rustling off again.
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