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The Leader
by Tita Lacambra-Ayala


One man’s idea
sinks like anchor
on faith’s barren floor

and we are schooled, blended
into a movement sufficiently
to rise
a wave of pattern
a sweep of brine demolishing barriers of emptiness
                        and guile

Escaping discrepancies of language
or icons of the mind stratified
against our map of disillusionments
and cutwork ideological

Our accretions dissolve—
moss and algae greening
the coral and surrounding shore
color of hope and things growing

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