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mom poem

the meadow was creeping
this is the ship of pearl
i made a vow once, one only
within my hand i hold
city that is not a city
do i like it
a blue-black nubian plucking oranges
the shadows of the ships
in the dark and peace of my final bed
now for a brisk and cheerful fight
to come so soon to this imagined dark
as it
if i had known how narrow a prison is love

 



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