Twisting tendrils creep through space;
Unfolding, unwinding into grace.
A gentle murmur, then bucks and curls;
The lace-like mist in sunlight unfurls.

The resonant silence holds its spell;
A patient waiting that knows me well.
In fleeting moments a melody sounds —
The beckoning call of the limitless ground.

And all around in maddening clang,
Cars grind their gears with metallic tang.
Moving ever faster with bellies bloated
With thick black sludge, in which our hands are coated.

Faint tendrils creep from around the door
And meet the drama laid out before.
With gentle ease they meet the grind
As struggles fade into silent mind.

Will you teach me how to keep the space,
Speak whispers in my ear amidst the race?
Will you hold my hand while the wild winds wind?
Blowing through me in grace, my soul to unbind.

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