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Cheryl Pallant

She dreams of trespass and root, a space where when lifts veils and eyes blink an
ocean. She turns from side to wide and summons other like no other wearing nothing
under guise covered in moss. She dreams. Not all do. Some lie

                with lids encrusted or a breath bated story. Lying to sitting like snoring to a
snag refers like any rug to appearances underfoot and undermined. That was not her
way. She reveled in gallops, billows, a seasonal accord every moment. She dreamt

                of seeds and space of lift, crevices where dust meets grain and sprouts
respectable. Like stonewashed or carbonated. Here I present. Hear I perspire. Here I
elongates supine unsloping in stand. Knowing missionary and a full pail, full blush.

She dreams of trespass as welcome, a summons lowering blunders into grace, bowing
or sprinting upon edge. Birds swoop wide-winged. Sun considers no cloud.

Ipresenther to therefrom unsigned and welcome, an uncontracted utterance, an
unfettered awe. As she letting go, as she lettering glow.

Cheryl Pallant

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