maggie goren writer



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short stories and other writing

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You were
the sea on which I sailed
without a compass,
believing in the true North,
the mouth of the river
wider than my imagining,
the desert
island of no return.

You could not stop
to weigh anchor and lie down
in the mouth of the moon,
to stare at stars without a future,
to leave words alone
and fold yourself
into peace –
to be nothing.

You were the prophet
without portfolio,
bedazzled by your own words
into self authenticating.

You folded like paper
into no new shape,
your canny hieroglyphs
disintegrating into dust.

You issued from another land
where time has run out,
and groaned your way back
into broken dreams.

You could not stop
for love,
which has no destination,
no tangible geography,
no time –
of doubtful existence.




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