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allIknow

how quietly
the noreast winds
wrestle with the pines
whispering
of southern shores
and sea
secrets passed
from one
the other
how was where
and why
the truth is held
in silent reverie

against the boughs
beneath the strain
of seasons
gone before
tho not a one
can tell the story
all
from pieces
held together
by the memory
of wind –
hymns we brushed
against the bark
will echo
past
the fall

. . .