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Notion
It was one of those
Gnawing notions,
Perhaps a wayward
Neruda notion,
Maybe a Russian or
Canadian writer’s words
Freed by global warming
From the ice where
They had been
Trapped for years,
Whatever the notion
It tickled his mind
And drew tangents
Here, there, everywhere,
Painted private pictures
Of her dancing in the
Meadow of miracles,
Leaving him
Simultaneously sad
And happy, but then,
Given a nuance,
That’s what a notion
Will do.
Stephen Nesbitt ©
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