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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

Finding Myself

I opened a book
and found myself.
Caches meant to be copied
and found forgotten.
Poems by the dozen.
Moments when the sea went silent
and I heard rushes,
waves coming in.
When Michael and Jackie
took me out to play.

When dreams were opened
and planets fell out.
Amazed I turned the pages.
Lakes and mirrors,
vacations and lonely waitings,
for faces to return.
The high plateau of mesas
weathered by sun and air,
coming through the lattice
of past forgetting.

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