Like perfume on my very transparent skin
I have absorbed so much of you
more than you can see
the way you planted trees
and read of magic
and reached further
than a ship could have carried me
too fast, as the rooms and the wooden floors
are now in the shadow world
only the packages
I can give my children
of calling, the weeping
the story teller
fears pass
the Cat Called Friday
transported, through the skin
again
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