Flowers
Are the copper pipes
Of the night

Silence
Crashes
Into the earth
Picks up the sea by its verbs

As thick as lightning
And doused in laughter

Charged to pursue
The cave paintings
Of distance

How does the person reason out the threadbare guts of being alive

A love of a loaf of the daring knees of a skinny spring

The inhale of muddy sky and the breathing rain

The ramble of birds and I have not the know of April wrists and fall and drown of the embrace of cloud and soil the rocks and waters and the heave of left it all in the grave grace

Seemingly the distance seldom is alone who is there?

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