from a spectrum of folklore coloured
into increasingly intricate intertwined designs
in the dark blank ether waiting to be told
he was a wish far away grant slanted
slightly away from initial intent
his mother held her milky arms up
for a child that came 3 months too soon
a minuscule mortal mound almost dead from its own abyss
for the want and the miss the early absence from the womb
little lamb fed full on dream matter
you'll dance to a rhythm we can't comprehend
the slender tops of birch trees
scratched with etchings of eyes
they will see it all.
see it all transpire.
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