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i love you poem

tripping up, falling down
before the solemn bronze saint
often is it not so?
love me at last, or if you will not
braided and woven
if i had known how narrow a prison is love
of sun nor stars
glass-blower of time
simplicity
birds against the april wind
among the smoke and fog of a december afternoon
all within and all without me
the swan existing
are you alive?

 



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