In the scrub
Of the brush and beesPainted with the purples of memoryStill at a distanceRustling as the gaze settles nearLonging for that place againWith a mouth full of sand
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In the scrub
It’s the coming together Of stillness and sound Reflections of sky, bouncing off the groundThe holiest of violence Looking for a mealIn love with this fear, omniscience surreal
