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April 2015, vol 11 no 1

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Patricia Prime

On My Way to the Sea


The wind sweeps through the willows and the river seems to call my nameā€¦. It's possible, I sigh, to find now in my seventh decade that I am hollow. I could be picked up by that gust and blown away like dust. It's conceivable too that were I to move and walk along the river bank onto the dancing sand I might be gathered up by a black-winged gull and ride like a princess out to sea and back.

sailing
beneath the bridge
a paper boat


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