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71 Homeless Woman All day the commuters hold their nose before they pass, her sheen of dirt, matted hair, dancing hands a sign. she does not sit on the bench to babble. she masters myths, strange tales where birds sculpt air, children sing in their sleep. Legends of fire, flood, houses built from bone flow through her, rivers of different current, same source. Circle back to the start. destination is the end of each story, which welcomes the next. Hers. ...

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