Clare Peppler

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During this summer of hospice, my love, where we don’t know if we have days, weeks, or months, we escape just an hour away to Laguna Niguel whose beaches are a summer salve: an upper limb of the sun dubbing a hue that evades the duress of our current reality. I must try and see the whole of what’s in front of me without squandering it.
You Are Here: Poetry in the Natural World
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