Thursday, January 20, 2005

The Dreaming Tree

The days come full circle,
singing praise and warmth and silken skin,
soft and electric and dancing in the air.

Beads of sweat and contact, pure thunder,
pulses racing and pounding to a silent
rhythm, the tachometre's incessant ticks
like a metronome astounding, precise,
breaths and insight shared and evolved.

The snow falls and drifts and clouds
my vision obscured, night's gentle tines,
easing me back to the days and the future's
engaging comfort, reliable and rewarding,
my own delight in a life's repast.

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