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footprint poem

under the harvest moon
there is no flock, however watched and tended
burly, dozing humble-bee
still thirteen years
a very remarkable history this is
why then, must we see?
to come so soon to this imagined dark
just now
i made a vow once, one only
in halls of sleep you wandered by
glass-blower of time
under dusky laurel leaf
when, full of warm and eager love
city that is not a city

 



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