Looking up in to the trees
hung with spanish moss
I think of you
and then the past
overwhelming feelings
of loss.
But I smile.
the wind blows
whistling through
cracks in the glass
panes rattle,
clattering yet
framed in like
cattle under
western stars
while hours pass...
I smile; random memories
you across phone lines
in the presence
of the divine
divided by time.
dancing on belief
here in god's
department store.
stored memories
becoming random
infused with raw
emotion over departed
essence leaking
out from graves
we slaved over
under moonglows
in obsidian
night skies.
secret knowledge,
russian saints
rendered paint
infused with science.
sacred geometry
astral astronomy
mathmatical progeny
we fall into and
out from pain
get lost in bliss
on the Nasca plane.
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