sleeping on the sand.
i look through picture frames
and read in books about paradisal
places. my heart is replete with
longing as it seeks its home among
blended oils and tattered pages.
but painted images and terza rima
will fade in time and there will be
nothing left except the shadows
of forgotten promises and broken hopes.
the search compels us out of time to
find where things will not decay and
where tableaus dance in resplendent
light while maintaining their shape
and offer warm rest on sandy shores.
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