The lake with is glowing and it singing and its propensity to dance

The lake with is glowing and it singing and its propensity to dance with

little lily Livingston, is always giggling just like a girl, with her hair always braids and in stories.

This makes me think……… of the time that I jumped into the sea wearing

nothing more than the thought of you. There are wheat fields that sing

from the tops of their heads love songs to the wind and they part their hair between

the rumor of wars….Bird colonies fallen; trying to find all their books burned down to the ground.

Was it too much desire and too many bees!

The grapes are full and within them so much potential for drunkenness and from the grape


born the dream of slices of bread and the jam and the butter painted on thick, and the old man

has jam all over his checks. You can almost see the 9 year old still running around underneath

all those wrinkles. It is like the operas and comedies that go on under the sea, where the

great love stories of Mermaids and Merman are rarely told, because of the beauty

of their story and the ebb and flow of the plot. But Not me I am floating around in a boat all alone on this

sunny day thinking of the moments that I remember that bring me joy. A memory

can be a raging spring with every flower popping up purple in the middle of a patch

of small new green grass on the side of an old white house, what exuberance!

What exuberance and what exultation are the memories of this day! Here comes the wind to tell me

of your adventures, and she tugs at my clothes wanting me to follow her. But I can’t

for now the starts and stars of fate are requiring certain papers that

I have not yet had signed and they are a particular bunch requiring

jot and tittle of every traveler. So I will sit here on the porch

and read the letters of stairs and ask the Dervish if God

will laugh today with me and the two

tyrant flycatchers that have moved into my flat.

And I will wait with my arms holding the dream of a woman’s waist


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