All season the wind blows against
confines that enforce solitude
of conversation and debate
I long to be light again
to walk crunching on the ground
of voices with no need
to make the proximity of
delirious prose seem like
something written in midstream
where certain passages are
situated in terrain of precise shade
a strip of film spread across
the yard endowed with meaning
that remembers and forgets why
images got mixed up as a young boy
approached his equinox always
being abducted by secret travel
through leaves scattered unaware
This is really nice. Full of mood. So many shifting images. It has the flow of consciousness. "I long to be light again / to walk crunching on the ground" is beautiful.
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