The sky just like all of us

There is magic, a current, a tree

I know it

Which people other than ourselves could feel

It pools here, gathers, fattened droplets

which they vainly tried to shape and steer.

But perhaps back then, the Sky allowed it

Took pity, or sensed kindred blood

Dripped moonlight on their dancing shoulders

wanted, simply, to be seen and loved.

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