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birthday poem

three days i heard them grieve when i lay dead
this ancient silver bowl of mine
i flung my soul to the air like a falcon flying
a little peach in the orchard grew
he'd even have his joke
perhaps
there was a strangeness on your lips
from our hidden places
birds against the april wind
i bid them all farewell
grieve not for the invisible
i stand in the cold gray weather

 



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