saturday walkers

party of one

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but who stood here before me?

barren

but I feel their presence

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in the smears on the barks

in the trail that parts the forest floor

was it the wind?

or was it her weakness?

disappearing into sunshine

melting into lakes

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now the clouds part &

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the moon whispers

goodnight

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still standing

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but she is

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broken

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barren, broken, beautiful.

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full text of 'birdsong' artists' book

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