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September 08, 2017 | | Comments 0

Trees Sway

September 8, 2017

Trees sway, a lamplight extinguished, green leafs moss covered and lichen lovers, boulders splitting and red moons forgiving, lone wolves caressing blue-mist-maidens’ breath while the white grizzly lurks inside its own golden honey comb-lined lair, asleep and filled with waking endeavor to be her candle wax illumination, her inspiration and atlas moth dress weaver…

Upwards to the sky we keep weeping, inside these handprints hides the travel plans of angels already incarnate; books binding themselves, forever open to hardening winds; flooding treasure-chest-make-believe standing still, a liquid gold sea hiding the last casket of water on Earth, a soul-seed cache for her infant’s birth from moon to moon, sun to quasar, hollowed tree-druid-father and mother dove song to the waves of whispering frost-covered digger pines filled with turkey vultures giving birth to polycarbonate fledglings, winged forgivers of wasted forecasts towards Love’s kingdom-weathervane’s stuck on high-wind-analysis; old bearded fisherman, naked and warm hearted, standing in a pile of withering albatrosses, balancing a sperm whale’s dream inside his head, quivering hands and feet, whispering something frightfully beautiful, iridescent snails crawl up his legs and spiral around his heart that’s beating on the outside of his body, black hummingbirds, drunk on bayberry wine, dance forwards and backwards with the witches in charge of his eternity, quiet masks come and go, a baby walrus gasps its first breath of air and prayers towards the fireproof casket go out, that its contents will fare safe on its long journey to Quadrant 23.4.888_#321… Inside an alabaster cave something stirs the sandy floor-joists; a serpent? a lion? a human? an alien?
earthquake? sinkhole? melancholy or joy? quicksilver golem left over from 345AD? None of these… It’s just movement for the sake of itself, not mysterious, nor anonymous, not specific or general, before cell or DNA or genome or matter: deep pliable feelings, pillows of Ragnarok and Eden meshed together to form a bed for her weightless body-residences, one landing and a billion sprouting feather-clans named ‘I am.’

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