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Mar 2013
the earth wells up with light
at my eternal touch
great springs of it
cool and smooth and gentle
at my rushing face, closed eyes
the swoop of my body
silhouetted against the dark wise ground

the trees celebrate my hair
strands darting and playing
in the alternate shadows
patterned sun drapes me

the slap of my feet
solid and known
freed by the endless forest
july.
Written by
beth winters
384
 
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