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  • I have a droplet in a glass
    a sphere of spears that shear
    directly though the years
    though its meaning is unclear.

    A sphere of pure idea
    a bite of light in endless night,
    inviting and delighting
    anybody who comes near.

    I detect a resurrection
    of connections of the old and new
    it grew as all things do
    with sun and sea and time.

    With hands of warmth it offered me
    an idea I had in days long gone,
    a fawn as life moved on
    forgotten in the wild.

    The morning dew evaporates
    the soul, it sings and shakes
    and lakes of anger disappear
    into the sky.

    We all come home into
    a house of leaves and breezes
    emerald trapezes of the mind,
    a swirl of pointless time.

    So the more we try to stay
    awake among the shaking
    steel contraptions, cold distractions
    the warmer is our fate.

    They never wrote a tale like ours
    with bars of red and blue and gray,
    a day of melody and tea
    to which machines cannot relate.

    Sprouting from cracks in people's backs
    it let them breathe
    and see a scene serene,
    a meaning hidden in a dream

    Gasping for a breath of air,
    I swear a flash of light
    came from their eyes,
    an epiphany in a disguise

    The people became a web of lights,
    a spice, a slice of
    universal sunlight shone through
    Nature's own device.

    A sudden sound surrounding now
    astounding and confounding rounds
    of tones within their bones,
    a message to come home.

    The morning dew evaporates
    the soul, it sings and shakes
    and lakes of anger disappear
    into the sky.

    We all come home into
    a house of leaves and breezes
    emerald trapezes of the mind,
    a swirl of pointless time.
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