Monday, April 7, 2014

Tomorrow is All Horizon, So Where Does the Hammock Go?

I saw the sun filtered through
delicate green webbing of veins
ringlet circle whorls golden grain
blue peeking like children
whose giggles were berry 
sweets soon-to-be
hanging just within reach

Taken from the branches
I am teaming with self
tendrils of me rise in curls
it is a meadow resounding
this place with no trees
vast is the plain the veldt
rolling ever outward

Grasses for years
dirt to kick about
I have no to-be
left to climb

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