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poem for dad

arched the flood
i make my shroud, but no one knows
as evening falls
they in the darkness gather and ask
tell me less or tell me more
i fill this cup
are you alive?
noises that strive to tear
it is true that you say the gods are more use to you than fairies
as i lie roofed in, screened in
good woman
see the tentative
if i had known how narrow a prison is love

 



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