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there are whispers
of remember
in the gentle tide of leaves –
a dancing of the trees
beneath an august night
as feathers sweeping skyward
on wings of sacred light

there are songs
and there are moments
from which our songs are weaved
– music held together
by the stars

lovers wrapped in make believe
waking with the dawn –
wishes born of loving
falling down

story still becoming
the vessel meant for dreams
verses where a forest grieves
with plans to get us back
into the heart
where love remains
the source of everything

. . .