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Heart Of Pine

What resides beneath that sanitary stink of pine?
Needles sharpened to cast away light,
all permanently in shade.
Nothing disturbs a deep within world,
where the crack of a twig neither alerts
or induces further sombulist musing.
How close it seems to my heart and mind.
Veins that barely trickle sticky blood.
Its movement never flooding,
just an insistent muted drip,
followed by immense silence
that never parades in sunlit places.

8 Apr 19

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