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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield


I stare out the window
at a pigeon cooing.
Is it talking to the world?
Is the world answering?
What does the world say?
Would the world listen
if I talked to it?

Is there a secret language
to loneliness
that we all use,
each in our separate way?
And each understand
in our separate way?
Does my shore hear their shore?
Is the pigeon praying?

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