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it was, seemingly, a first 
  for me...after all those years of travel -
 time traversed, amidst the myriad straight tracks of
  my imagination

  it was still fresh....

the rocks, bearing their decay
like ripe fruit hanging over - the birds,
swooping down upon me, amidst all their innocence
of man

 I had seen
many such sights, times before - but still...always, since
  my childhood - as momentary refuges,
from that nightmare I would
soon awaken to...

broken & reformed
 twice, upon the anvil of my mind's eye,
 I saw such things anew...once more
 as if renewed amidst
my childhood's

for once...we
took the time needed
in that one place to capture
what such a place might mean
amidst this life

 were, for once,
left behind...and, my
parents gave me time - and the solitude,
to feel the land again - the way I had once felt
it...entire, and unmarked by the divisions
life had wrought upon
my soul

 so, now,
again, I felt...and
immersed myself within the land, the
hidden patches of greenness, the
vast eroded stones - and, I

for what was dying
and soared with that which flew

and I wonder, now
 why ever, I lost that which
 I knew 

John Henry Calvinist