May 11, 2012
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The birds whisper
In my ear.
The leaves brush past me.
I bully the pebbles
And I’m the storm
To the ants.
The hills roll
The flowers run
Across the plain
Around the pond
Trimming the path.
Colonies of dirt
Forests of grass
Mountains of rocks.
Branches of leaves
Crowded and stuffed
Reaching out
Through the gate
For the open land.
I look up
And the sun soaking in my skin
The clouds fly by
Different form
Different story.

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