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Hortensia Anderson
Amber
The sun melts across the bay, spreading a
patina of copper. Wind rustles through the
trees, carrying the last rays of light with the
first shadows.
As ripples reflect the burnished sky, I want
to hold this fleeting moment the way I hold
a leafy fern that has been kept for millennia
in amber.
antique violin—
a chunk of rosin
beside the bow
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