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thanksgiving poem

your body's motion is like music
the long resounding marble corridors
i am weary of being bitter and weary of being wise
as a white candle
her face is fair and smooth and fine
are you awake?
a look is but a ray
now that i have cooled to you
just as my fingers on these keys
often i think of the beautiful town
let me move slowly through the street
she said

 



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