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tempt not these eyes
with lust for the river
dried to my feet
by the sand
cursed as I might
the azure blue mountains –
for trust
I was want
to withstand

a blade freshly carved
from a goldenrod meadow
bends round my finger just so
imparting a mystery
my heart
deems to wonder –
on lives polished black
by my soul

I am mist
gathered places –
the essence of longing
as breath come to blush in the spring
oceans are pining
for one more forever –
a page washed away
as I dreamed

. . .