Even the trees hold their memories,
and the waters fall down the mountainsides
  ice and snow as gifts from starry skies:
 does any soul remember these?
 does any eye see
where they empty themselves?

how much blood that’s formed from yesterday
and the day before, heavy like liquid iron
and a solid heart, strong and weary,
trying to keep its world spinning
from head to toe,
as if it should be as easy as a butterfly
or the bee,
or the dog that sleeps.

we’re just reminded of that peace,
the leaves that fall without complaint,
the love of all that’s real and simple,
a light dimming in the darkening night
when you’re lost in subterranean caves
dreams and bright skyscrapers
trying hard to make it work into “I”,
as if it’s as easy as one foot in front of the other,
and one breath after your last.

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