was the ocean not or the moon?
the wind that circles here
and upon which our deep memories glide.
Ridges rise up from the sea, seem to float as 
they gather mist at dusk, at dawn. Their roots
hidden from view. 

fantasize of some mythic origin
and mythic beasts that
exist only in memory. Shift my gaze--
when was the sky not or the horizon line
that bisects above and below yet deeper than I see.
Yes, when was that not, when was I not. 

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