Poem Twenty Four: Prediction

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My pencil drawing 

of a small house 

built with soft talismans 

to bring in the light.

The author writes us 

in black and white 

lines across rivers 

and fields.

Pink sakura blossoms 

sweep across the page.

What do we hold 

onto from this life to the next?

Does hunger mean

taking everything at once?

The way you let go, 

I let go too.

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