Dreaming...
Running at a steady lope,
the night alive with sounds and scent.
Down hillside,
along stream’s dark bank,
pausing to drink the cold black water.
All shapes are gray.
I take a trail,
follow it for a time,
lose it,
try another.
My senses extend beyond my skull,
I hear the song the moon sings,
I am become a piece of the night.
The day-to-day musings of a frustrated conservative American.
Friday, January 21, 2011
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