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son poem

the darkness steals the forms of all the queens
city that is not a city
leave the lovely words unsaid
let us plant
candles toppling sideways in tomato cans
who is the runner in the skies
and with the humming bird
she limps with halting painful pace
i do not pray for peace
birds against the april wind
roses and gold
i am in love with high far-seeing places

 



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