I can tell when you have wandered
your mountains
possessing each precipice
remembering your song
the wind is in your hair
in the darks of your eyes
beneath your clothes
whirling still
all around you
I hear you approach from afar
like the fall of dripping drumbeats
toward dry ground
searching for me,
where I wait
among simple grasses
we dance
the dance of willows
cheek to chest
without ever touching
your music swallows me
so deep inside you
I'm sure
I am balancing your heartbeat
upon careful fingertips,
cradling your next exhale
between my lips
soft, rhythmic flow
we float together
leaving no imprints--
like ghosts, strumming the clover
with what might have been







Gorgeous and soothing...and how your next to last line could have easily been "stunning the clover". Congratulations on a well-deserved gold. 














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