Dried leaves drift across the waters,
Float high before a desiccating sun
propelled aloft by unrestrained convulsions of emotion
far from liquid depths of animating passion.
Thus the Muse weaves symbols of renewal
by casting out the chains of supplication.
Fragile missives,
carried far, only to be filtered through a shuttered window
Swirl in pained confusion,
surround a baroque writing table
like shards of ancient pottery that hold the heart of Vesta.

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