Carried on the wind of culture, was something novel,
less a seed, more a pollen granule.
Dangerously far from reality,
the merest hint of potential
floating, wafting, drifting:
perhaps settling within a mind
in full bloom, copulating,
yielding a seed, pure potentiality.
Half threatening some pervasive perversity
but equally promising perseverance,
or perhaps only preservation but, certainly of hope.
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