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The Ground We Touch
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No lust to sing of or heartbreak
to bury. Circling the golden fields
of yesterdays gone,
coiling the hooded tomorrows
and all the white folds
of sky. Under
the driftwood stars,
a thousand sleepers drain the
waters from zenith high.
They crash down, sinking into
bedrock, stumbling below where
no bird could breathe.
And above where the oceans
burn and roll, fish take flight
like a million moons.
© 1992 by Allison Grayhurst
amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst
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Published in “Synchronized Chaos” November 2018
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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:
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Thank you for sharing Allison. Appreciate your work.