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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield


That I repeat myself
is not as important
as how I repeat myself.
Did the sun not rise yesterday
and break again
some heart in the romance of rising?
The same and not the same.
And yesterday
the postman delivered his mail.
And today, Tom comes
with his letters
that speak with different voices,
tell me things I never knew,

And like yesterday
I look for the absent letter,
that announces its silence
every day.
Will it come sometime and say,
I’m sorry
I have forgotten you.
love is here
and always will be.

So the cosmic things
and little things
cosmic in their pain,
repeat and repeat,
and we are never bored.
I will tell you again what happens
when you ask,
How are you? What’s new?
And say,
everything’s the same
as I was yesterday,
brand new at sunrise.

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