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.
*