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poetry in motion

i know not where
the ships are lying in the bay
a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue
stand here by my side
still thirteen years
under the harvest moon
there was a strangeness on your lips
i had over-prepared the event
i walk down the garden paths
leave the lovely words unsaid
i saw god. do you doubt it?
night is dark, and the winter winds

 



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