Ink Ghosts

 
Fresh aged sorrow
rolls back beginning.
At first sight, fear
soars bliss terrifically.
Seed floats on
throaty yearning.
 
Far back crying,
“Return! Come
to the uncertainty.”
Nothing never
so sure.
 
Ink Ghosts echo
the later dust,
scraped off.
Set in granite
circles around,
and around.
 

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