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Being

Being

Poem By barbara foster schutz

There is always a corner that
harbors dust.
No need to search; it will collect
and make itself a force
to reckon with.
Not slowly does it happen.
Dust rushes
to accumulate,
materialize,
like wispy smoke that holds
itself together, apart
from common air,
insisting.

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Comments (2)

I get the sense that you're good at developing sustained metaphors. I'm going to read some more of your poems.
You are so right, there! Look away for just a moment and Hey Presto! dust has appeared from nowhere and your cleaning once again. Nice write-up. Sincerely Ernestine Northover


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