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fall poem

a look is but a ray
who is the runner in the skies
up from the south at break of day
i have had one fear in my life
better than granite
i make my shroud, but no one knows
brother, i am fire
those black eyes i once so praised
we break the glass whose sacred wine
see, from this counterfeit of him
wrap the earth in cloudy weather
truely
god
with lips blood red and heart of stone

 



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