A poem…

If I could


My nightmares

It would count

Ten gold buttons

All that old


Would be mine

Free berry trees

White wash streams

Over berry clouds

Gold leaf rain

On the horizon

Each dance

Moves to the


We dive

With the wind

All the oceans

Not worth the


In Nero’s garden

Compared to

Your love

A man

Slain by


The cruelest dagger

It is no strange


Better to be


Cooling the flames

With cold rain

Than to let myself


Even Peter died

When he emerged

From fire,

That hermit who

Was a terror to

The saracen

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