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Works of Art

By Mona Wanlass

Stepping into your canvasses
lost within captured dreams
searching for the moment you were there
breathing vision into brushstroke.

At your potters wheel
my humbled hands so cold;
covet impressions left in earthen ware
ceramic relics shelved,
no longer for sale.

Caressing the plaster image
I kiss the death masks' lips

(For Johnny)  

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