surrounds me again
when I least expect it:
inlet waters
current through waves of moonlight
toward distant marsh grasses
as skies open to thousands of stirring
planets visible against a black possibility.
I want to save myself from time,
which could never be
this instance of wind
and darkness and luminosity
or as vital as the susurrant echo of the present:
a constant breeze against my body--
moving in space, humming through trees--
always dissolved before it ever exists.
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