Proximate

By Allison Thung

Neither prelude nor sequel,
or even the same genre.

Shelved alongside only by
sheer alphabetic coincidence.

Till some eclectic one comes—
cozies in your soul, my poetry,

draws subtle similarities
and apparent parallels—

we sit in silent contiguity.
Proximate but peripheral.

––––––––––
“I write so I can forget.” – the writer

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