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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield


The walls echo with the rush of words.
The caroling of seasons
has blown away,
their notes disintegrated
in the dunes of forever.

When I was a child
life was the span of one day.
I tunneled through the earth
to the other side.
Boards needed to be nailed.

I marveled at the taste
of wood and flowers in an apple,
and no one ever went away.
They loved each other too much.
Everyone stayed.
I listen.
I hold them.
Wind blows through the door.

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