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dreams
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by Bil Johnson
dreams
aug. 25
10,500 ft.
stretched between two lodgepole pines
hammock swaying in the cold winds
come screaming off the peaks
swooshing the tree tops
rebel aspens--leaves tinted gold in this late summer season--
sing to the pines--who moan and creek in reply
i huddle beneath
lazing away
eyes moving from edward abbey novel
to sliver of blue sky
eyelids laboring
finally
letting go
i tumble off the mountain
into my dreams
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Bil Johnson
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