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Fingers plucking

woven strings
we dance
alone.

Fingers tapping
lacquered wood
we tap
along.

Fingers stroking
summer hair
we stare
about.

Fingers tracing
winter dreams
we smile
aloud.

Fingers reaching
out to touch
we pause
aloof.

Fingers gripping
shaky palms
we turn
around.

Twenty dancing
strings plucking
winter dreams
across lines
traced in summer
sand--we close our
eyes, turn our backs--
as tensions of opposites
abound.

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