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Like a mandala made of sand

you painstakingly shaped my

pieces into a whole

I’d never before seen

 

but just as the picture

begins to make sense

you cast me into the sea

with light ceremony

 

uncountable coloured grains

tossed on wild waves

already sinking

but somewhere

 

in a mind

a memory

a moment

an image existed

 

though it is not the goal

rather a map that lives

a land both formed and referenced

with each new breath

 

for time’s patience alone

permits cartographers to believe

in the fairy tale of their own accuracy

 

in truth

that river they plotted

has already changed course

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