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Feb 2020
Atop a rock, aloft.
The valley spread below.
A pat of sun melts down my chin
and smears amongst my toes.
The wind brushes my lips,
a kiss of pine and grass,
My soul, it hungered, I was fed
from nature never fast.
Travis Kroeker
Written by
Travis Kroeker  31/New York
(31/New York)   
173
     --- and Robert van Lingen
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