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poem for pastors

white foam flower, red flame flower
the smell of the rose so false, the thorns so true
glooms of the live-oaks
i am in love with high far-seeing places
to what shall a woman liken her beloved
who loves the rain
in the sphere
candles toppling sideways in tomato cans
all my love for my sweet
the swan existing
a storm is riding on the tide
the dawn was apple-green
you say you love me

 



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