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Partially, your truth spoke. They’ve nearly carried it all away.

You and they.

Those winded cedars rose to the sun on boulders.

How could they be louder? Buried feet may not be winged.


O’ Lover! it ran downward, its carving grew.

I stole it from you, for you! The scent!

I’ve begged it wash me from you. Anoint

Surfeits of evil.


Ghosts! Shepherd, listen, “A wish is induced

by a sudden change in the wind’s decay. Shall we

to the water’s edge?” Go then, bathe in what’s left.

Posted 03/26/15
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