Digging.
Through the mud.
The layers of silt –of guilt.
Through decades,
I fell.
Free falling.
Life’s calling,
Mother!
Circling back around.
Unfamiliar,
Yet known ground.
Like a vague, distant song.
Once sung.
The melody rising up
From this buried, dusty instrument.
A song so familiar,
Yet nearly forgotten.
I am listening.
I am quiet.
I am writing.
I am found.
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