growing things

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When the forest is small enough I can fit it inside

sleep happens with face by plant trying to create the smell and sound of life, leaves

something is longing for less houses more nature

and yet I sit silently waiting

 

I am growing things

even if a glass of water is to carry the whole Ark and my internal number of creatures is not symmetrical

blood and bone is home

I think of trunks in Big Sur, and stars even higher up

ankles in icy stream, blue birds noise breakfast

silent winter evening walks snow sounds

 

sometimes they feel closer than people who were

after they are gone even what was is less real

I am larger than a tree, right now, and it needs my hands to water and carry it

 

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