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Years
I was made of smoke and ice
For Years
Before I ever smoked ice
All of those Years
That it took me to grow the mycelium
Taking root o'er the Years
Growing a crystalline crust of salt
Those sparkling layers deprived of their Years
Every memory of the lepidoptera I raised
Tossed in a wastebasket to rot in the Years
I'm expected not only to keep calm
But thankful that I've lost those Years
Working toward little things that make me smile
And humble and sullen and reminded
Not of progress, but only of Years
Where I was broken and dejected
How audacious of me to assert my healing
When all of the Years
I lived a life I wouldn't wish on another
Those Years
Are all you'll permit me to exist in
Years
You know nothing of Years Years Years

The Walrus and The Carpenter II

If you ever love a Selkie; you have to let him swim,
You have to find acceptance as he courses whim to whim,
If you ever try to catch a fish as he shifts in murky sands,
Your hold better be gentle or he'll slip right from your hands,

If you ever try to love a man with scales instead of wings,
Remember this is not his world and the kind of pain that brings,
If you ever need to take some time to sort out your clouded head,
Remember in those spans of time he has lingered with the dead,

If you ever spend your time with fishes swimming north and south,
Try to imagine what they hear from the words poured from your mouth,
If you ever look into their eyes and see that haunting light,
Try to see the stormy ship that trudges through the night,

If you ever pull back hesitant from the warmth felt from their touch,
Be prepared for icy gales when they feel they've been too much,
If you ever try to dry the seas with gusts of thoughtful air,
Be prepared to smell the blood of wounds you've opened there.