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issue 4


a poem by
Laurie Joan Aron
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I Think Not

Not to think, but be
Loose boundaries of sensation.
Thin sandals, aching feet. I hear
Birds chitter, dogs squelching in the mud.
Sun warms my neck and steams
A jungle aroma from the thickets.
I bend, with straw hat banded head,
To pick up blossoms plucked off by the rain.
I notice, at home, a body in the mirror.
Surprising. I was as an awareness
Picked out in small pains and joints and noticings.

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