we race into the woods
like mirrors
its not about the speed of light
though we do feel rather infinite
we just want to see
what we left behind
and how we look now
it might sound strange
these childish games
reiterated action
like shimmers of indigo
but we built our treehouse into the sky
so what do you expect
we are rising, rising
not quite frolicking
just moving at a pace that makes us grin
and the funny thing is
we race into the woods
like mirrors
because we enjoy the blemishes
and irregular flowing curves
yes, we smell the honey coming soon
kaleidoscopic branches and aching bud
ready to breathe leaves once more again
this light is so awful pleasant
filtered through canopy dreams
following fluttering liquid thrush song
we smile because we always knew
fortunate enough to remember
I drink from spring kissing refreshing meshing view
we move about the woods
as mirrors
seeing you in this light is not purely uplifting
more like exhuming reposed placidity.
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