She must run.
She must run.
She throws her spirit out
before her, some stone
skipping across the water.
Feet slapping against the walkway
in happy laughter, openly shared
to trees and grass - and me.
She must run,
keep within reach,
one breath, one dream,
so close to dreaming-before-time.
Feathered steps like wings,
cannot stop flying,
will not endure not dreaming.
Even at rest, it is only the pause
that makes the next note to be,
music that she shakes loose from
earth.
Angeline, feet like wings,
feet like dreaming,
melts the stones beneath
her passing.
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