X69

My hands to no

Swords and stratagems

For sustenance,

I engorge on silence;

And for days there is no contact

With the outside world.

I straddle slowly, closely the winding banks of rivers, the mirror of my own veins.

I avoid the hinterlands, rife of noises and competitions;

And in the

Mist one morning

Will laugh at a distant madness.

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X68

We are never more than walking distance or a few miles away from the ocean,

looming large,

mysterious,

fearsome,

just beyond the hills,

between

the canopies of trees,

the blue

backdrop to every act of living.

At night

her soft breaths lull us into the pleasant realms of dreams,

though now to free upon the remnants of all that has gone missing;

but

this is not farewell,

only

the sea again becoming sea