A river threads a patchwork of activity,
Uniting man to nature, his desire,
To commune, make his mark, despite the brevity,
Of each mans' passage from flame to dying fire;
The clouds, with silent dabs, caress the land,
Forge maps for mind and eye;
Suddenly, a ray, illuminates a narrow band,
A field where puffy dots graze or lie,
A stone among them, its meaning lost in time,
Once told that men fought there;
Their dying cries, now absent, echo in the whine
Of wind among the trees, lays bare
To me, the mental spaces which I breathe,
The intricate patterns which, with words, I weave.
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