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Looking back,
My steps are marked,
deep ridges where
the mud climbed
my canvas sneakers
during the rainy seasons,
surrounded by a dark
gray sky.

I prayed that the rains
would wash my steps away,
my secrets down to the rivers.

But I kept
Walking in circles,
mud turned to soup,
sinking deep with each
Round,
Until I drowned and
I thought I died.

Millions of years later,

I was dusted, held gently and
packed away

then

put on
display.

You stare in wonder
at my bared secrets.

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