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Seeing things

A day of seeing things not there, realising this curve, that angle of light, creates an impromptu face, paints a smile in the floor, a wide eye by the door, watched by a casting shade or sun on a wall I saw a hundred times before.  Nothing I could point at, draw round with pen, trace with chalk or my uncertain finger then, hesitating at the juncture of concrete, lips and the nose I was sure of when I touched you and said, an imaginary sentence never used, describing a face you could not see, in the bricks near our house, where we walk by, where I turn, and ask about supper instead. © Amanda J Harrington 2022 My  books  on Amazon My websites for  books  and  tuition Find me on  Facebook  and  Twitter! Read my Autism  blog

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