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Contents Page: April 1, 2011, vol 7 no 1

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Carol Pearce-Worthington


Way Station

No landmarks no horizon. Something white floats in bomb craters filled with rain, fragments of life once led, flowers that fell, when – nobody knows or says. Wind – there is nothing soothing about it – lifts and drops the sand. You sleep on a wooden floor and tomorrow you will continue. There is one night star. Desert surrounds this small way station – one stop on the journey across a land that seems to never end… You try not to think about the others.

in a time of frost
how far off
the robin

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