Winter lifted my spirits til I was a treetop angel

With candlelit canopies tucked discretely in at my feet.

See now how non-descript I am; I am only happy –

As was then and was again when I fell

Into that emptiness, carefree nothingness below. Blown off billows from eastern

shores –

I knew then I was sure of my non-identity

For I left on oak no marks, nor crevices, nor stains on satin-writing sheets,

But passed through these trees in aimless glee, and left all in my wake exact

– just as was before.


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