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Mar 2012
the ground, it trembles.
as if thousands of little feet trample its surface,
rhythmically packing the hard earth.
And none can see a thing.
their eyes matter not,
touch overwhelms their being.
it caresses their necks
and trickles between their fingers.
it washes over them
in undulating waves.

they dance, and they inspire danceβ€”
in fire
in gusts
in light, filtered through wind ravaged trees
and kitchen windows.
which glitters entrancingly as it kisses the floor.
Breanne Johnson
Written by
Breanne Johnson
917
   Alice Kay
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