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Still Moving

Our faces blur as we whirl past each other, like beams of light in caves of darkness –

Moving too quickly for an eye to take shape, a mouth to form words, or a kiss.

Sometimes a sweet scent of another wafts past us like a soft touch we must have imagined.

We’re startled awake for but an instant, until the swirl reclaims us.

Not a long lost memory; still[ness] busy being born.

Marsha Pincus is a post-mid life woman, riding the Age Wave and writing for her life.

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