BC interior.
Somewhere we don't know
Exists yet. I don't need
To work, to teach, to write
Anything. I may read,
Listen, wait and observe.
The best parts of the past
Link hands in fairy rings.
My ears still imagine
They are ears that now hear
The streams through summer green
In a place that will soon
Enough be black and grey,
White with waiting again.
I am hearing this plan.
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