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About This Poem
A Trip through Ireland
In the distance a figure walks,
resembling a shadow as he grows more remote.
He turns only once to view my perspective of him through my camera lens.
The streets are stones and the lane is narrow.
We are by a church, in which there are statues
to be deemed, cloaked in a subtle wide darkness, for the interior
with all its incense and ornaments, carpeted red and the walls vanilla,
is as uninviting as the retreating man.
My camera clicks.
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