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Place and identity, a door opens.
And I see the old country,
The one I left behind.
The house at that dusty Street
Where memories are located
Stares at me; its eyes impassive.
When I left years ago,
I left the door unlocked
So I may return.
But uncertainty assails me
As I contemplate return.
Could I, in my exile-altered state,
Belong again?
Written by: Dollin Holt
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