SMILE

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Sometimes
I will hold a smile.
And there is ignition of a tiny ambition.
And thunder from the quiet room that I guard deep under
And the part of me too long delayed cries out to be displayed.
But I realize
That she is a
petal
And I do not know.
Hands pass. What do they catch?
The slipping wind, or the individual within.
I do not know.
So I smile





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