on my tongue
clouding my syllables.
The world i'm looking at
glows through the stained glass
the great green slashes of rice
against the bend of mountain arm
that tucks me in at night
and through the colours through the glare
i know that it is raining here
but I am gone
long run home
to the place where the sun sinks
into the hills in coverlet of red
so softly with the last strand of colour
traced across the sky
like a sleepy kiss
here the sun crashes into the horizon
a collision of heat and rage
spills across this flat land
and everyday i taste the ash on my tongue
today I walk the concrete streets
with the drifting wish-seeds floating
about me from the lines of trees
I am drenched to the bone
and do not feel a thing.
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