I walk up to god,
my feet sweaty and sore,
lungs gasping the earthy air,
the windless sky a lying
summer blue.
pines crowd, so green
they smother.
I walk down to the past,
wet sand molding to every
bare foot step;
slamming crushing foaming
until I can no longer see,
or hear,
or feel
anything but grey-sky clouded-fog
and you
rhythmic blue-riding soul.
primal kindred
grindingly slow
reach up and drag
down—
finally breathing in life
as I drown.
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