forth, from under muddy, dead ground
comes life, breathing, new
life into rhythm and
desecrating this world's
holy rite of death
so many greens
like so many shades of west,
of youth, of birth and
rebirth forever
until it never stops
gushes, from above the blanket of the sky,
entrancing all the little things,
all the nuance and forgetting
what it is to be alive
yet living, breathing, muddy
fading are those shades of love,
the hues of her, the tone of one
blurred night among the rest:
sins forgotten, words seared
into stone tablets, scorched, bleeding
beating, waiting, heart
sun rays and ocean waves
waiting, for the frost to melt
her arms snake down like rivers,
floods of life and death
her face is fading, muddy,
blurred like sins remembered,
words said; and new little things,
joyous, clever little things
with a face like all the greens of spring
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