In the wee hours
We sing our dreamsong.Still air dances with
Sweet secret movement.
There is no spoon,
Nor is there echo anyEver from puresong,
Trailing verbs & reverb.
Silent hay rolls
Hide shadows withinDark music mosaics-
Reality abstracted view.
Turns taken in sync,
Bereft of timekeepers,Ruleseekers and rakes.
Smooth as light reflected.
In the fleeting eclipse end,
Where most sleep awakensOur songs fly away with us
To the other side of the world…
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