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Dreamer
In atmospheric indigo ponds, a crescent moon floats
Bobbing above soft, feathered tree silhouettes
While the rest of the world is dotted with stars,
White tempera paint on a dark surface
How I’d love to feel moon’s cool stone
Or grasp the dust pan
That collects the shimmering gold dust
God's stars shed
I'd relish it
Until gasps of ombre dawn emerge
And the last strips of indigo imprint on my soul
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Psalms 148:3-6