
Winter blossoms hide in the smoke.
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I remember more than this existence allows for.
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It’s all just smoke and bones she said. I turned to respond but she had never been there.
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We carry out the necessary rituals but we can never meet. Leaves and magic circles.
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Drawing patterns in the stones. Rituals to find grounding in nature.
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The evolution of the starfish teasel.
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Reflected and ephemeral.
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Fading like smoke but I shine like a star.
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Creating patterns from chaos to enable the chaos inside to subside.
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Creating patterns from nature. Imposing order where none belongs.
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