There are things that come

Spinning out of the darkness

Little flecks of blinding light


They hit some invisible ceiling

At the back of my throat and then

Spinning, fall back down to the depths


There is a land down there, far away

An Atlantis so ancient

That my memory of it is but snippets


Of its music, a forgotten note or

A lyric half sung, a sort of golden

Sweetness that rises and falls


With the blinding light. No stories do I know

Of how or why or where that land drowned

Or what ocean lives on with a secret heart


And just so my own voice calls out to me

My own song sings in echoes and whispers

In the lights that dance where heart touches soul


Where soul meets harp

Where harp strums love

And love strokes gently, the back of my tongue.


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