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we stand
at the scrub board
of a laundry sink filled
with soaking sheets

strangely moving,
close-cropped images

banal becoming eloquent
the tension between

the baroque folds of crumpled
white cloth
the geometry of the unremarkable
the transparent plane
of the water's surface
transforming the space
in another dimension

we stand and watch
in Spain.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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