Watching by a rosy creek
Stitching the words of silence
On the bays banks, a balance
.
They heal
measured, moderate, and steady
Punctually preparing keys
The silent locksmiths,
guardians and gatekeepers
.
Walking with the night
Floating, fluttering, flirting with the light,
Churning, chafing, changing
Chained to the heart
.
By the fire burned and blistered
Dressing and draining
Carrying themselves away, Returning
Watching, waiting, wishing not to depart
Mending and melding
Gasping, “where to start”
.
Watching by a rosy creek
A mark in the whiffling wind
A tranquil muse by the reservoir
“Is there anymore?”
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