the
cut tongue angles of my angels of Autumn calling
and
the old stones
and
copper and iron
are
calling back the Sun
in
the bled colors
of
a matching sky
and
ground
here
she says
take
my hand
and
whisper where
the
abyss edges in
and
no wings
are
needed to fly
when
inside this moment
that
can be ridden
to
where ever
we
might want to go
the
telemetry
and
geometry
of
your surrendering
says
lean back
into
the songs
as
if you always
belonged
here
with
me
EJR
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