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07 April 2015

at the shrines

Taken on our way back down the mountain;
there was a fairy ring larger than the scope of this picture.


We climb to the top
where all those hopes have lain
under moon after moon,
for eras, continued.

Floating on a sea of light and lives,
A thousand lost voices
reaching for our hands
- the long dead, the new dead, the never dead - 
just want a piece of our time.

The peak at our feet is dark,
lit by white paint in the moonlight:
the path between shrines is 
deep as graves.


~~~
Written at the top of Shrine Hill, as I call it, during our full moon hike, 3 April 2015. The italicized line was spoken by Archer, and inspired the entire poem.

One of the many shrines, before the sun set.

Looking down on our town, at dusk.



~~~

Shared with the real toads, because even though it's not specifically about stars, the starlight was peeking in around the edges. 

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