Tear apart the mist
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Who wonders if she'd ever be brave enough to seal the flakes stolen onto flagstones.
An event, the end of the painted road ends up. From there, any. Toward only a whiter absence of my mind, what? What can you do?
Again awaken from your being gone to find "Now it's my turn to sing!" and traces of those deep cuts to lie thickly upon my only thought.
What comes up with a means to its own end.
III. Earliest Recorded Northern Explorers: The Greeks and the Vikings
As if your absence now concluded long ago.
With a hand freed from weight, Quest and Conquest for a few weeks. Statistics won't seem the paths of childhood.
They tear apart the mist.
They beckon from the other shore.
