Bill Albert

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    ​

    our own space

    ​

    it is difficult

    to find my own space

    with care workers

    buzzing around me

    like I was the queen bee

    ​

    solitude

    comes at a price

    the house is dusty

    the dishes undone

    the bed unmade

    ​

    hollyhocks grow tall 

    staked with wooden posts

    ride the wind

    reaching to the sun

    bees caress the blooms

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    I am still

    in the wildest storms

    unmoved

    by the highest waves

    only my hopes climb

    ​

    days play out

    marching to drums

    not my own

    searching for dream time

    between the drumbeats

     

     

    Bill Albert/Joy McCall

    ​

    published in Atlas Poetica 30

    ​

    ​

    Paul Levy
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    © 2015 by Bill Albert