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footprint poem

stuff of the moon
just as my fingers on these keys
in the cloud-gray mornings
candles toppling sideways in tomato cans
i shall see a star tonight
blossoms of babies
a gleam of gold in gloom and gray
listen to the sounding sea
when i returned at sunset
do the boys and girls still go
birds against the april wind
there by the window in the old house
old wine to drink
there is a city, builded by no hand

 



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