shapes
shapes, i see them all the time,fat, slim, ground and green, blue and black
waving their magic wands slowly
against a cloud of phantom passersby
shapes, i see them all the time
hunger beaten, swinging and flexing from morning
huriedly like a wounded serpent,shrinking
towards a cloudy night
shapes, their voices are little sounds
springing from wet and dry trees and little forest huts
where birds and men have lived to tell their tale
and them trees, clouds, and seas, wave as we come and go
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