we walk an ancient paths,
being-under spruce and birch and air
and a conversations we cannot
hear
we sleep an ancient dreamings,
of glacier and iceberg and reflection
a substances beneath we will not
feel
we yearn for an ancient languages,
spoken in softly; as spice and song
and a Spirits that we did not
know
Showing posts with label the poems of toil. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the poems of toil. Show all posts
21 February 2014
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