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by Cheryl Derby
As swiftly and silently he passed by,
I glimpsed my reflection.
Sunk in the water chestnuts is the sun,
the bright and dark sun
painting leaves in the murk of living.
There his shadow hovers,
living its life in the course of a day,
while these white dresses on the clothes line billow,
filled with clouds.
These are his hills and valleys
in summer slowed.
They are taken in to disappear
through his arms.
They are the embers of summer
that smolder to a silent language,
as I come unbuttoned,
seed pearls dropping.
Each corridor obscures his face
but by his touch I came to know him,
our hands the last thing before the