The blood in my dancing veins

The trees sway
as they do in darkness
washing over the landscape
I press silence to my chest
my eyes open to the cold
the warmth upon my skin
a luxury to my shuddering bones

I cannot move like trees
in nimble accord with wind
flexible in a state of grace
I do not sweep over the scenery
like the eye of the night
the calm texture of leaves
turning green from seasonal respite

The flesh of the evening
holds nature so stubborn
scattered over hardened mud
I tremble in the grips of earth’s aura
legs quivering in the still
the body keeps the night close
embracing the reverie it seeks to spill

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