But your heart has to grow

What fertile ground this is
in which the imagination
runs rampant

Our paths never quite
intersect through
these fields

cautious as we are

we run
in expanding
contracting
concentric
circles

while the tall grasses
brush against our
cheeks

deliver to us
whispered
caresses
yet unheard

our flight
thus
unburdened

our roots
flimsy

and not
quite attached
to earth.

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