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Old man walking in the park
shrunken under ancient trees
bent, slow, hesitant
already half-memory
he passes through the dappled light
melting transparent into shadow
and now is gone.


I know this place
I know these trees
I know when half the world
was like this grove
and I ran through fallen leaves
with young feet and arms for wings
breathing flight.


I have that vision still;
it frees me from this feeble form
that clings to me.
Earth cannot
hold me now.

                                      - bardsmaid