We’ve been here before you and I, spooning voyages
present, beyond it all.
Coo-coocoo of mourning dove pirouettes with ears
stretches as limbs ironing out creaks,
here, this place. Spooning, ladling.
Across inky shadow growing long as dawn bids adieu
the hare stills, bathing in heated streams from sun’s yawn
dreams falling off with nights-hair swirling
with breeze to nestle on dewy grasses
there, just there- teeming life, spooning sustenance
and here this place
you call
sow into this inner lining linking breaths
as seas to sands, rams to rugged.

editors note:

Such a savory soup! Open wide! – mh clay

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