A Little Piece of Me

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her brow
beaded with
sweat,
tendrils of hair
clinging to her skin,
afraid to
look ahead,
her eyes fix
on the trail
of thistles, dried
pebbles and moss,
and she trips
anyway,
her mind
buzzing with
the crickets
and cawing
with the birds
confused about
coming or going,
which brings
her to the sea
and to her place
on the shore,
trembling on
loose sand
caged, somehow,
beneath all that
vast sky,
never certain
which of the
world’s horizons
to claim. – TS
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