Into the cold.

The dark winged wisp

in the cold,

into the silence

of the sea.

The ocean awakes

into the shapes of light

gone, part of one

sipping the rain

there’s one season alone.

There’s glory into the sun

winding the red

into the willows

lost into the mind

of cool light,

Writhing into the present

blue as ever in a

sense of dew

as the sea follows

like the past always does

Rising on the sleeping mist

roaming among

the blown tombs of dust,

eliciting in the dreamed

air,

drowsed in the weeping wind

nurtured in the dark.

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