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By A.E. Bayne

Your decisive marks grip me for a glimpse of you.
Finding those things you left at inconsequential moments,
thoughts in mid-sentence.
What were you thinking when you picked up the pen to write the note?
What were you going to buy with that last dollar you carried?
A lifeline to the material, the physical?
What were you dreaming when you were dying?
Sometimes I see you in my words.