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18d • Authors, Poets, Writers
March Poem & Image
The air is a secret held between two seasons,
A silver breath caught in the throat of the woods.
Gone is the iron grip of the frost,
But the gold of the sun is still a soft, pale promise,
Sifting through the lattice of the waking trees.
.................your turn................
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March Poem & Image
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I am a writer. I am an artist. I experiment with AI sometimes. I welcome women who explore their own creativity, who know the value of community.
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