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December 31, 2009
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The rain has moved on while he's away
and I listen to the thrum of a
Zimbabwe lullaby played on the mbira.

How still the air, yet there's the
scent of unlit candles; gifts from him
because they remind him of me-

I can't help but smile as I recall,
we were together shopping one day
when he exclaimed, "I smell you!"

Now the last of the empty thunder
rumbles low as I consciously inhale...
I don't have the heart to burn them.
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:iconkatarthis:
*katarthis May 8, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Now you make me wonder if that is why my Grandmother never wore her "white shoulders" ... This is beautiful.

k
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:iconalecbell:
a fragile and lovely poem :heart:
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:iconjade-pandora:
I'm so glad it touches you, Alec, thank you. :heart:
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:iconretrozombie:
how vividly the images spring back into life as I reread this wonderful poem.
I don't have to ask, because I know
that you still have the candles

and I still have the incense
:heart:
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:iconbeeinthebottle:
I love the imagery on this and most of all the unique perspective. :heart:
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:iconjade-pandora:
Why thank you, dear heart, for letting me know how it touched you. :heart:
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:iconbeeinthebottle:
You're very welcome. :)
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:iconthetaoofchaos:
`thetaoofchaos Sep 28, 2010  Hobbyist Writer
so sad and precious, how we imbue objects with the magic death and rebirth of universes. :heart:
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:iconjade-pandora:
That's a very beautiful way to read this piece, Shane. :heart:
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:iconsub3r3:
oh his is extraordinary, the imagery and the sound in it are overwhelming. phenomenal work
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