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title
"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

Katia Arco


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Stepping into Heaven

Marigolds sway where terrain has gone. A train
bullets through views of watercolor strokes. Grandpapa travels
figuring the lot unaware the cuckoo has stopped the call.

Oxygen saturation plummets, a gasp pulls him
to the One I think is not the one, only space
where there once was a thought.

Doubt stains the reflection of his glasses, sharp
as the day I saw him first: Basque beret,
newspaper in hand - waiting for the next stop.

But the train has not ceased its slur.
Beyond the windows, spectral hues speed
into the whiteness of a blank canvas.

That's where it begins, at the sudden stop:
all belongings stay aboard, watch your step
required is a set of aquarelle.