On My Way To Trinidad

I saw the eagle soar that day
when I was on my way to Trinidad
to walk from sidewalks, shops and trinkets
to redwoods tall and shady
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That eagle, beak hooked, gleaming bright
a yellow barb to hook the sun
and pull it there behind its flight
into the always never-end

of trees, and fogs and oceans song
of silences and sounds of streams
I was on my way to Trinidad
and nectar, melancholic bitter-sweet
foggy_fern_forest_ll

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