when thinking a lot and always
of things that you know
bees ring soft and long clear
and your fingers grow and reach
to sing on the surface of things
(the insides are much too large and far and wide and near)
light tightens like violin strings
through the thinness of air
a sound rushes safely through
there is no resistance here
there is no muting here
in purity and form
the sound flows tightly and together
from somewhere to there
from there to somewhere
here.
between orange and red
the softening of your shell
eases your lid
and welcomes me
right
on
through
i sink dancingly in in in
when thinking of a lot and always
i already fell
into one step that flew
and fingers grew and reached
to sing on the surface of things
with a sound and a step
long forgotten and too soon found
in a waiting corner
where the magicians gather
i am welcomed
right
on
through
to sink dancingly in
in
in
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