Steps

 

our steps in the wild soft grass
a green necklace of strass
– as emerald velvety fern,
with lights that mildly burn

their silky footprints in the sand
a wet rusty chain of time spent
– sweet golden bowls so bright,
in foamy waters so white

her  steps on the cruel cement
a long line of maybe  and yet
– “maybe it’s working like this,
yet maybe I will go amiss?”

my dear warm steps on the ground
as beads of murmur and sound
– spread on a thread made of streams,
of life and hope, …bluish dreams

 

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