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|Twenty-seven's often found online
Writing to her followers and friends.
Each thought leaps from her fingers into time,
Now urgent in a stream that twists and bends,
The conduit on which the heart depends,
Yearning for a grace it can't define.
Selves are not themselves till they combine,
Each needing something yours to mirror mine,
Vetting visions through another's lens,
Ending where who knows a person ends,
Never more than I nor less than thine.