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white air.

a seagull perched
on the gutter.

trucks slowly
uphills.

people
in houses
lighting fires.

radio static.
lightning. like ego's.
your smoke curling around flashes.
in the night time, the storm drains
overflowing, settling,
piano, pensive, playing
me before beautiful eyes unfolding
then thunder. closing.
i've dreamt for too long
that there was a life
after waking, that
in the water when
we played, the waves
would carry us, swirling,
see we knew the shore,
the sand, soft rocks turning
but not the seasons,
tumbling, if only underwater
when you are weightless,
when you are invisible
forces, surrounded
if only, but
lighting, flashes
rips, ripples
sadness
on
the cusp of concussion,              

                                          clarity


though
already
we are

into deep








dark
infantile
deep

infinitesimal
differential
deep­
rapids running into rivers into rivers into rivers
and
it comes on slowly
a curtain being pulled open at a theatre
the lights dim
a murmur in the aisles

slowly you feel a fading

then a small, quick intake of break



your love opens
in front of me
all around me
everywhere
I've found a way out

imagine walking
through a rain forest
with eyes closed
in a thunderstorm
there is something you should do,
if you could
remember, but

history is bipolar,
each moment splits in two

rifts, opening
skylights in hallways

days go into days, go
into years
and still nothing.
Nothing in the daisy fields,
nothing in the fields,


white hills vanishing
behind clouds

us, here
on the side of the road

and the wind whines
through the tussock grass

and cars drive past,
bright lights speeding through darkness
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