the listening beams, the reams of untempered ears woven into the tapestry of the earth. I remember the great well hidden inside the moon. We would climb our sacred skins into it’s long jagged, narrow nose slits, smell our way through the sieve of the silver walls and drag our bodies around for hours just looking for the light and where we had left it last. We hunted for fresh laughter and often found pounds of warm love baked into the crust of the craters of the moon’s mouth. The ground was sleeping but the air was full of silence, twisting and wringing its neck, whirling about in shapes and shadows hunting for seasons to pull over its slimey rock radiance. We rolled and trolled about, licking the fingers of molten mystery. We slept in pools of sassafras summer and eeking memory bones of civilizations yet to come. In the morning our dreams lingered over the luscious


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