Warm Winter Blue ~ American Sentence – 34 of 108

wisp slips crystal cloud mist
tree tips reach
tender spreading press into blue.

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I'm a rock-n-roller poet who left the Big Apple for the Big Sky Desert where I've been letting it be and grooving with universal love, singing to the gods, dancing with the muses and bicycling with dreamtime messengers. I like altering my reality through imagination, movement, breath, and makin' stuff.

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