Never you mind, we can be friends again
with the tides, I could again learn
how to move in kind, how roll, be dragged,
rise up, fall down, the moon will guide me.

The green can return, and trees that are young
will one day be tall, and the sun will continue
to grow colder, the blossom closing
for the long, long night.

Skies will once more be colorful
but we might slip back into our ancient roots
and forget the blue. Mothers may take their bone marrow
make their children out of will and dream.

This is the future. So why not? The light
cannot die, merely change, become vapor
in a cosmic Juul, that we will blow along
the churned nebulous ocean above.

I want to build with my hands, the prototype
of the New World in a bottle, no
dragons of commerce reaping lands,
autumn leaf be the brigantine sail.

I don’t want to never die. My identity is
Beginning, Middle, End. Take this from me
and what am I? I never wanted to be a god,
only to be with the tide

and waves crash.

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