The Essence of Things.

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I am the bamboo leaves
Shuddering under the weight of rain
In a cold windless sky.
I am the wind
Flown across the ocean,
Rootless and unearthed,
Hovering around the bones of things.
I am the pane of glass,
Human-made, heavy and obtuse,
On both sides of every place
Creating distance even
In invisbility.
I am a woman, here,
Looking out the window
Memory of past rains
On my skin
Forgetting to know the how of
The patterns of shapes,
And the essence
Of things.

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