Hello Mr. Magazine - - CONTENTS - Jott Robert­son

They looked for me among the tow­er­ing pines where win­ter was break­ing. They searched in the quiet ed­dies and the creek’s cen­ter. They called out to me in those damp and hol­low tombs, in cav­erns where peo­ple carve se­crets and lis­ten to the si­lence in hopes of echoes from the past. They thought they might see me on the sculpted neu­tral shore where the world stretches out tire­lessly to the hori­zon. On the edge of th­ese places, thinly sep­a­rated from the known, is where I re­side. I cease be­ing obliged to any map and em­bark on a jour­ney beyond any charted des­ti­na­tion.

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