Past the brittle reed of wonder past the unwrit unspelt large of words lies the worn underness of warm things the vial of all beginnings scratches dawn and you wake as the snake does to its withered skin if you float a lie on a river will it flow as readily as one that made its way to heaven, reborn as scripture?
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Gathering just-a-bit-o moss 
Wow.
🙏❤️
Wow! Quite! If you’re saying what I think you’re saying there may be a twist in the tale of Moses.
I can see that meaning working itself in 🙂 the first two bits are taken from unworkable poems I wrote over the last two weeks. The final bit I wrote before posting and stringing together with the two. I am just glad they resonated. Thanks 🙂