Laced Leaf

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A slug made lacework of the leaf

So fine and dry and paper thin

That it should crumble

To dust within my palm

 

 

Framed within periphery

Of shape that was

So finely wrought

It held itself aloft

Between the ought of leaf

And caught the light a

Leaf shaped a hole

Of spacious foliage

 

A ghost of what had been before

The formed relief of the self lost

In light and airy nothing

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