and seek

We go to seek new songs.  Landscape. Silence.

To follow our rabbits, hope the hole never ends, just gets too dark too know.

We go to seek new origins.

Think of me as a sound, as a peculiar type of wind, as a shade of darkness in the unknown contours of a cave. The path of a water droplet. The after-twang of a banjo.

Nothing stays the same for long.

A leaf-beetle's dance,

the ache to become a song.


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