River of Wind

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I walk down the river of wind

expecting to drown

and yet

I find myself being carried by the day

like an angel made from clouds

holding my hand

guiding me down the stream

I stop and rest

at the bed of the river

smelling flowers and weeds

beautiful and indistinguishable

and so I start to arrange them

into new forms

new combinations for the world to see

 

 

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