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poetry poem

a flying word from here and there
i saw the archangels in my apple-tree last night
i am dying
my son is dead and i am going blind
star-dust and vaporous light
when night drifts along the streets of the city
last night the full moon laid a cloth of white
are you alive?
i heard the wind all day
to be able to see every side of every question
a little peach in the orchard grew

 



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