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through unpainted fence posts,
i peer into your world.
my eyes move from flower sundresses
to spring jackets and sweaters flung
at the gate’s latch.

the pageantry makes me cry.

i can’t enter even with your light invitation.

i look and do not see my children.
i’ve been told they are dancing in heaven.
but, i never taught them rhythm nor holiness.
maybe they learned underneath my irregular heart beat,
before i let them go, pushing them away and out
into the arms of others who could bare their embraces.

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