Playful clouds dancing on magnetic girders
between abandoned trails of time.
Reality is pretty, but eternity is very pretty.
God makes the streams outrun the dancers
while the ethereal banners separate like smoke.
I am mated to the pines
that climb ruddy hills,
to magnolias shining
through years that fly like paper.
Lines of salt vibrating
over doorways crossed by peacock souls
through the restful poles.
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