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funeral poem

lady, your heart has turned to dust
we who stood
at dawn, he said
as evening falls
to come so soon to this imagined dark
blossoms of babies
in halls of sleep you wandered by
city that is not a city
sweet and strong
when the veil from the eyes is lifted
under dusky laurel leaf
and as we walked the grass was faintly stirred
i have come into the desert because my soul is athirst

 



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