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Poetry: Encounter » The Aspergian
Feel my gazeas a wild thing's nearby attention—when you meet it, be gentle.My burrow is close,to hide me from sudden strangers.See my face as stone:harsh, scored by painful weatherthree seasons out of four—stretched by relentless iceinto cracks where understandingruns warm in summer—until inevitable winter freezes my speech.Remember to walk kindlyin my abandoned hills—be still and hold out your hand.I may come near enough to touch. Read More →