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Waterful
John Hollembeak (bio)

My dreams are dreary as a whole.
She sometimes has to wake me up
to shake me from the screams.

This time the beauty should’ve startled
me awake. I turn a corner, going
nowhere. There it is, a lake or something

I have never seen. A surge of hope—
I can’t believe my eyes. The water floods
inside my parchment skin. I turn aside.

I want to feel the thrill again.
Of course the serendipity is gone:
a withered aqua-blue hydrangea,

falling lost from someone else’s sleep.

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