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Caspian A lady of the lake bent in a curve past the stars, seems unusual, but then you have watched her, the praying and the gazing; night after night, not a nestled dream, rather a a direct life all the way across to a recognizable star, catch her as she takes a child or sinks a seed; she turns from the day looks up and cries and laughs at the speck not thick glass has ever seen before, yea beyond the curve, again:the bend in time or insight; not stars set in silence in her, strange as a Cuban, always speaking, yet not of herself