the underside of leaves speak in molecules of pure air
carrying fragrances of nearby worlds.
my widespread nostrils tip down
to hold the precious scents,
transformed, behind these tunnels
to an ancient brain, to thoughts
and visions held together
with silken threads of dreaming...
a great fish far in my brain
leaps with clouds of breath,
to bring old life to being;
before my seeing eyes
the clouds of sweetest smoke
forms the firmament.
imagination is contained and lost.
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