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the poets tell
your body's motion is like music
at dawn, he said
stand here by my side
a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue
i make my shroud, but no one knows
as it
a look is but a ray
my true love from her pillow rose
along the banks
be patient, life, when love is at the gate
and still they walked on
grieve not for the invisible
better than granite

 



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