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poem for pastors

i've won the race
three days i heard them grieve when i lay dead
i saw god. do you doubt it?
could we but know
it was a tall young oysterman
i shake my hair in the wind of morning
were it not for that singular smell
their beautiful hair
in and of itself
with the meek, brown eyes
do you remember
short and sweet, and we've come to the end of it

 



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