pursuing what clouds my mind
with the taste of lambs
foggy swirls behind
the glass of smoky ruins
forming and razing horizons
playing catching catch canned
then reforming them in the tides
then catch basin-ing everything
all the little aggregates that drift
all the chances that net choices
as physical voices only carry
as far as the wind can dig
in pockets of time
in amber hush-gold huddles
in seeded reason for each begin
as far as the wind can dig
as choices are the voices of
all of the who,why and what I am
all the pieces,in rhythmic pulses drifting
then to find the yoke,the fire's host
then to where ash is another tide
collecting the spills to fill
my hollows and delves
from one wave to the next
coming in like glass
catching exhaled
horizons in the
smoke again
swirling them
in the fog
EJR (c)
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