Moors
Wind swept days, a good time
to be a thin branch
in a treeless landscape.
I was not born to the moors,
they were born again in me,
they're a sea creature
created to be
the heartbeat of the sky.
Rains surf over mountains of air
pell-mell is the wilderness.
The rolling swells of a high heath
have saved me,
or maybe it was the lash,
the hundreds of shapes
gypsy winds can take
when you roam the unknown.
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