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Possible Whereabouts

What I’m not
is full of poems
They don’t crowd around
waving, jumping
the scratchy feel of paper
beneath their inky toes

They wandered off
to the Islands, I imagine,
judging by the luggage
I picture them packing
Floral, full of sweetness
and secrets
sunscreen and paperbacks,
I imagine
— and that’s a start

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