August 3

O’ Sunlight, where you have gone is unimportant.
When the glint of you pours over the horizon
or gusts out from behind a glut of clouds

I become a lush forest, thin, guiltless,
lung of nigh an issue, night unwoven, sling
of joy over anything broken, all insults unstung.

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A day is not done, until it's filled with words.

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