THE ANALEMMA

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THE ANALEMMA

Standing here in the same spot
Every day
Makes me think of you
This figure-of-eight feeling
I sometimes get
Is not something new
Your smile, your being,
Your overall everywhere-ness
Mingled with your general couldn’t-care-less-ness
Make me think that perhaps I’m wrong
It is an abstract thing
Like a solar analemma
It has no physical existence
Except in images long-gone.

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