By George Irwin
Do you hear the voice of the wind as it whispers her name?
The witch, the queen of the lines of light that lie between here and there,
The mistress who flirts with the edge of the veil,
Sews new turns, new twists, new lives into the fabric as it unfolds.
Like dust, she rides the winds, the lines that oscillate out from the core of the universe
And breathes in the bright air
Of each new dawn.
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George Irwin laughs at things that really don’t matter. He encourages you to laugh at them as well.
Labels: George Irwin