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sister poem

babylon-where i go dreaming
let a joy keep you
were it not for that singular smell
when i was broke in london
this ancient silver bowl of mine
there is no flock, however watched and tended
moonlight deep and tender
the sky
and so it goes
i have heard them in the night
some of the hurts you have cured
i walk down the garden paths
from our hidden places
skies they were ashen and sober

 



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