On the slanting tip of This thin slice of beauty The eagle’s EYE (ego?) is blinded Imagination Spiraling Through wild wind filled With loosely hanging green Never landing on the Field bi-cycling Paths curling Roots hatching Wheeling-willing Catching Saas-Fee free air — My ears speak into My mouth, she Listens to the taste of My heart smelling to the Touch of my seeing In the Darkness of the House Ah,

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