I dream of a world with no churches.
No walls, books or scribes.
Logic is not a deity, the words have been written before there were such things.
The verses came from sparrows, rolling currents, glaciers, redwoods, bats, meadows, and yawning bears.
When I was 6 my friend and I saw an old gray stump in the nook of the canyon and we believed it to be a wolf staring at us.
We ran home and stared across the meadow with binoculars shaking in tiny hands.
The weathered message of a time before anybody we knew was born, was still there.
Breathing, calling.
I've seen hawks stand on it. It still hasn't moved in 20 years.
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