the afternoon,
chimes outside my bedroom
hanging from the branch of a plum tree.
forget about the plums,
they never appear.
the sound continues to ripple in speed
and volume, breaking the wind in two
and lending my ear a vision of sublimity for day's.
from memory, the presence of chimes have always
lived with me, it's like the dance of my cell,
effortlessly making succession after
succession of fantasy for my breath
to return to.
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