I was mere five years old,
sipping tea with
my raggedy dolls
or a tight corset
that lifted the flat horizon
The peaks rose
like fountains
singing exaltation
It returned a few times
once as an elder lion,
another like you alone
A music, unaffected
by practice or pattern
a joy without living future
Decades later I think
must have been a memory
of an abandoned paradise
A dream, to accompany
this slumber,
on our way back to it
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