It’s always damp but never storms
Trees in such abundant forms
Greens in shades I would have sworn
Were never born.
From such great heights I cast eyes down
At this ever-breathing town
The Earth, I think, is not so round
This edge I’ve found.
Parasols march in shades of pink
With endless minutes paid to think
Flowers twined to interlink
On ocean’s brink.
Characters that I cannot read
Alone, at last, and finally freed
Illiterate, afraid to lead
A newborn creed.
Words that float like dandelions
A belt that could not be Orion’s
With calendars by ancient Mayans
Charging ions.
And so the flat world still revolves
‘Round puzzles better left unsolved
I listen hard to hear the call
And miss it all.
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