Treasure is a picnic
in a clearing amidst redwoods,
a black and white blanket to lie on,
a sky only blue.
It’s hours to wander.
It’s the braid of conversation
between friends and the moment.
Treasure is never what we thought it was.
Once we thought we were supposed
to live perfect, unfailing lives.
Now we know treasure can look like scars.
Can emerge
from the scent of burnt dreams.
Joy of Reading 
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