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Here comes the rain again
resounding footfalls of past lives
on the darkening pavement
like relics of forgotten virtues
failed rebellions and
fondly remembered places where
you once desperately craved
to belong, but had been
anything but nurturing
to your presence, as if
they had seen the future
and knew you might be happier
elsewhere. You are the sum
of such places, this moment
you occupy, charged with hopes
that seem to slip in search of
the absent sun, is the earthly body
of the dreams whose vividness
make you question whether
you had left a piece of yourself
behind for weavers of other
realities to make stories with.
Your regrets are the rafts
on lake’s edge, unreliable but
there, should you wish to try
again to make it in the direction
whence you came. Even
the danger is you, what you’ve
done to survive, nobly and
otherwise. It all led to here
and now. And there is the
name unique to your immortal
spirit imprinted on the way that
you let the rain fall down on you,
waiting to be read, waiting to be
owned, so you can christen
your struggle by drawing your
proverbial blood and pouring it
into the puddles of sky
on the ground where you have
also many times fallen,
reminiscent of tears and bearing
the weight of a thousand years.

“Street Ballerina”
by photographer Khatleen Minerve


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