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skies they were ashen and sober
braided and woven
rocked in the cradle of the deep
calm as that second summer
were it not for that singular smell
the body may confine
i saw the archangels in my apple-tree last night
gaily through the fields we danced
the saddest of the year
just now
brother, i am fire
to clothe the fiery thought
where shall i find you

 



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