twenty seekers lay prone in the meadow of your love
since last winter because words are a quest
for nothingness. we found them while making our way to the
spring cabin for a season of rest. turns out it burned the year
before. no one bothered to let us know. true, spanish explorers
would have seized the day. but we vanquished by storm
and memory, turned home. secure in a different knowledge. defeated
by a different blight.
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