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words by Richard Gilbert images by Sabine Miller

the stars will all too briefly flare.

stealing glances towards the country of the unreturned.

layers of history in the streets now mostly windswept.

moments of burning extend to hours days in a season.

time cannot be treasured or kept after cooling a bit.

the emptiness of three songbirds each singing in turn slightly turned.

tomorrow-land imagination dialed down to forms of counting.

my country in an isle’d sea the difference and all that there is of it.

in your palm you hold the very spirit of an island.

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