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math poem

before the solemn bronze saint
out of me unworthy and unknown
the old west, the old time
dark-eyed
backward, turn backward
evidenced in the glimmer in your eyes
her face is fair and smooth and fine
a mile behind
braided and woven
who will be naming the wind
rose and amber was the sunset on the river
tripping up, falling down
you are my companion

 



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