Her Lands

by Aidan Andrew Dun

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My hands
have returned
from wandering
adventures over
the curved
world’s rim.

Sailors, tanned
singing other
languages
they’ve come back
circled and ringed
with haloes of silver
handsome signets
tatooed blue-black
with strange symbols
old cuneiform
ideograms.

I lift them
to wide-open
eyes in wonder
raise to the zenith
these pan-travellers.
And as they pass
across my face
breathe the sea-air
of exotic coasts:
fragrances still
clinging to my skin.






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