Imaginary Children

Up in the air,

Streamwise goodness,

Playing the tune.

 

Flutes and sirens,

In symphony rising,

The midnight flies rest about.

 

Second winter,

I need remember,

The feeling of flute.

 

Sinking in the water hole,

I translate the mothers feelings,

Liquidate the notion of believing.

 

Cull the night away,

Frayed windows and nights astray,

Flutes behind the curtain dreaming.

◄ not here

Irretrievably lost ►

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