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daughter poem

now that i have cooled to you
to some the fat gods
lady, your heart has turned to dust
birds against the april wind
in your flight
days endeared to every muse
a blue-black nubian plucking oranges
passing through huddled and ugly walls
are you alive?
high walls and huge
there are gains for all our losses
what spiteful chance steals unawares
i have come into the desert because my soul is athirst

 



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