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Familiar words
echo through the woods.
I’ve committed them to memory,
of places far and deep —
places travelled
in my sleep.

Familiar dream,
fluttering poplar leaves,
yellow and green in noonday sun —
beautiful face behind a tree,
flirting, smiling
back at me.

Familiar voice
(a giggle sometimes)
startles me from reverie —
a sweet, fragrant, lakeside breeze,
and mournful singing
from the trees.

Familiar path,
in darkness I tread —
lifetimes (maybe more),
holding love within my heart,
whispering your name —
you lead me back
home again.

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Gotta Find a Home; Conversations with Street People