by Terrence Sykes
worn guidebook
found on a bench
in the park in that
foreign town
byzantine framed
icon’d memories
baltic forests
flower laden
marsh mints
finch amongst
linden & autumn
nettles not yet
gathered by village women
whose family always lacked
simmering amongst
rutabagas for dinner
some night before
those waters flowed
almost like moonlight
turned its back
eclipsed & failed
to guide the tides to
the last stop
of that ragged
paperback
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