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  I Am Not the Buddha

Ann McNeal

 


The long wait on shore
far from traffic
pause in the drone
between the in-breath
and the out.
Heart-slam the sudden
splash, not for me
but dragonfly who is
or is not there
when ripples
die.

Walking back to the car
I slap a mosquito.
What is written on my hand?
I am not…
 


 

 

 

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