Far from shore or expectation
With a plain wind at your back,
Watching the pattern of the waves unfold.
“It’s a dance,” she said
slipping gracefully between scent and touch.
From this world to another
Spiralling into the infinite,
A circle of empty hands.
Mind meeting itself
In landscape emerging of its own will,
Uncovering a becoming in Beauty.
A deep pillow of crisp leaves
Walking on air under the trees,
Taking note of the sun’s path.
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