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life poem

we break the glass whose sacred wine
in september
i stand in the cold gray weather
i reside at table mountain
why do you always stand there shivering
dear wife
over the rooftops race the shadows of clouds
and breaketh bread no more
from our hidden places
i have heard them in the night
full of tears
why are the things that have no death
out of me unworthy and unknown
beautiful

 



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