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RAMPANT
grids
laid like a weavers magic
there are lines of us
reaching up
and arms across
tabletops and bedsheets
sands of summer
warmed with bitter blue haze
and storm fed skies
fat with dusk and thunderheads
dancing with light
and tonight in the ghost of
lonliness I chase the old
songs of us
around we go dipping into sunshine
and cool shade
a forest trail walk we talk
in heady pine fallow carpets
and dusty wind
Tannic falls gathering its voice