…the hour of dreams in utero…when indefinable colors stray their spectrum…strangers are foreseen familiar…language barriers crumble from stone wall to mossy bed…sleep slow breathing comfort…as souls slip like liquid from flesh…leaving letters tucked in tree knots and hand prints on glass…an acknowledgement of a life and of a love and of a calling…we miss, we lost…someday…we recover in the abandon….
E.A. O'Connell
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