From this side of the looking glass I do not see her even though I know she must be perched in that window where smoke billows out, a bird of prey that surveys her kingdom each day, searching out aspects of morning and evening, a lone figure with this single exposure, I do not go near that part of the world less for fear she might see me as I might see her, the least contact the better, even after all this time, no need to bird watch when I know already where she sits, if not quite what she is thinking while she's sitting there, spewing smoke like a dragon, letting her hair down for those who might be brave enough to climb up to where she is, when clearly I am not chosen to, and choose to remember her as she was, certain she looks and sounds the same, perched in that window, looking out at this gray world below
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