Stand Still, World.

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Stand Still, World. 


Palm to palm, gravity glues us

to our sandstone perch. 


Green hills pause their swells

of promise. A glass sea frames these islands, 

catches a cloud at rest mid lonesome pass.  


On red toyon berried tree limb,

a black phoebe punctuates this "now."

In her bead sized eye the sentence ends. 


Unbound, we braid our fingers and hold on

to the smell of home. 

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