That Morning…

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That morning,
Not a ripple remained among us
That did not encompass some thought
About yesterday.

We endeavor to keep them all,
And feast with them,
Inspecting them for clarity
Of hindsight and reflection.

They have kissed the breeze
Of their own accord,
And have delighted in their secrets,
Half-divulged,
In concert with vague movements.

They tell us nothing,
But show us what it means
To be the salvation
That awaits them
With a half-smile

One night
Years ago.

Art: Claude Monet
“Riverbank at Argenteuil”

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