among the orbits of their eyes
stolen dreams and wrinkled stories
line the waves and valleys
they cross. and their words were
echoes of things they'd never seen,
assembled fragments of a world made
from magazines, a collage they put together
telepathically, in plain site of alligators
and moths beating their tails and wings
against the paper walls that keep them
bathed in tepid light from day to night
and unseen.
just wild mazes,
to be lost in-
a mirror's stretched above the din of the ocean's
crash, and catches the light in droves about its silver-rimmed glance...
you seem to gleam yourself in half-spoken sentences,
in instants of selflessness,
a sandy beach scattered with years,
and around the ocean lies your deep breath,
one after another, sign of life, the maker your hands
the shape of the fingers trees resembles, it
speaks, with all the force of tides, with
the weight of skies and sky-scattered stars and
wavy lines. It rides
a stiff breeze,
til the oceans end,
and time descends the plateaux of thoughtful
rhymes. My heart skips
a beat. It's a forest of glimmers,
of half-eaten leaves and the light they've loved,
of the lingering scent of fur brushed by a treetrunk's
stolid watch through the dampness of the morning.
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