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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

Past Forgetting

I have to go back
and rinse things off.
See where light laid its fingers.
How high the ceilings were
being large and being small.
How falling changed
the way I fly,
seeing in a glass,
the deep clarity of water,
the shape of dreams
in the imaginal sea, and
how the human heart becomes
and finally dies,
in the vanishings of space
it leaves behind.

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