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We rule the forest, and we run through the green, tree shadows dappling like a herd of grey stallions. Moist dew sprays released by thrashing ferns, liquid stars of a moment, melt into the moss, created by our careless brush. This flight of ours may be eternal, impressed as a scene of joyful abandonment, but…

Tribute to The Hours

there is nothing to capture the strains of the hours when you are lying on a carpet of thoughts the languid gravity laps at the ears as a cold warmth rises feeling of soft hands vignettes lines commas and pauses all things unsaid and others not unforgotten breathe out their purpose and the whispered air…

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in steps of three we take down pebbled thoughts on healthy knees, the stroll around the shell within or one of the many of these can let us see the glowing moth, the sleeping owl, the green-barked tree, or chance that opening through for the drowning salmon, the messy spider, mayhaps the walking snake that…

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it was moving inside curling and unfurling and i held on to the reins to the river handles of imaginary will and temporary sanity flicking fickle-dom of white, gold and sprays it goes where it wants it collects where it rests and never and never will it end that is the beauty of this state

Dust

The star fell. Silver sliver and cold sparks flailing against the sleeping sky, but no one made a wish. And yet it still flashed brilliant diamond, til there was nothing left but a smokey trail of dreams, dust and what could have been. And no one made a wish.