I was born in the cold time,
when the frost glass cracks, when the snow dances, when the lines of life run rivulets through ice, when the bare tree wind lances the skin as it sleetly dances - I was born in the cold time. In the time of leaf, thistle and sprout I was born in the time the grass is greenest with doubt in the time when brown is mulching about in the time the petals are twisting tips and berries play at bridging the thorns in the time of the sprig and the smell of the earth I was born. I was born in the silence that sings between the stars where the strings and the tesseracts wave and flutter the galactic shoal, where the horizon ends where the soul eclipses the solar flare where a quantum whisper echoes the choice that across the cosmos in a still small voice just then, just there
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October 2016
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