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For The Familiar Singing Of Flighted Friends

 

For the familiar singing of flighted friends

For the caress of etheric invisible which blows during the equinox

For the soft sustenance, the stem cells beneath my feet

The rugged giants of compassion swaying gently with me

The cool blood of life dripping down and from the stones

The ancient faces of rocks, they are the bones

Standing silently on the edge

We are never alone

Circles and spirals

They are the cycles

Ebb and flow

To and fro

I am grateful.