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Beneath the Arc of a Pagan Star

W. Oliver Hunt
Jan 1, 2025
1 min read

Three small, brown eggs

lay steaming in a bowl,

pointing inward

at the empty

space between.


I rest my sight

in that subtle gap,

to hold its place,

and strip hot shells

down to soft white.


Here, I think,

in this porcelain space

is where I will

leave the peels

and lay my mind to rest.



By W. Oliver Hunt

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