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The Window

A lace curtain dancing
on an oak window,
drawn up for the air.
I want you to be there,
in a bent-cane chair,
a beret – perhaps,
a book on a knee,
cotton dress and the
scent of wild roses
lifted and swirled;
for the chapter on love.
Close your eyes, now.
Listen for the wind,
its teasing whisper

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