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Fragments of heart

To walk trough the path

holding hands with the clouds

and drink at the source

with unquenchable spirit

Fragments of soul

as we hide within time

our garden prayers at dusk

the only forms of twilight unseen

as feverish inner laments

Fragments of memory

next to the treehouse and windmills

an ocean is ever so close

and that’s enough in itself

to breath in gratitude and fear

Fragments of being

silence bleeding silence

from the shores no one drowns


the tide is inside

poem and photography by Marco Pignataro

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