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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

Shooting Star

I love the bon vivant
of the shooting star
that landed with its mimicry
in my night.
Two pieces of magic
in a bestial world.
Midnight torn apart.

Yes, I exclaim to myself.
Our celestial and planetary fantasy
living outside our sublimity.
Yes, I smile,
affirming to the realm
that surrounds this dreaming world,
we are inscrutable miracles
on a lark,
crossing paths like lovers,
waving to each other
at midnight in a park.

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