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thanksgiving poetry

little park that i pass through
they may talk of love in a cottage
we were not many
music i heard with you was more than music
a blue-black nubian plucking oranges
come down at dawn from windless hills
have you not heard
that year
i am singing to you
candles toppling sideways in tomato cans
last night the full moon laid a cloth of white
braided and woven
i sometimes wonder if it's really true
that strange companion came on shuffling feet

 



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