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Post by juno on 4/6/2011, 03:56

light of day
swooping falling discs of sun
on a road-ridden windshield, the peeling paint
of ruby red, the sorrowful wail of a bird
on the highest peak and then
the mountain tumbling down with wails of
other birds that sing hymns in return

a part of me jogging, in the sweet chill of morning
in the misty green-grey-blue of yesteryear in
the whisper by a telephone, outside a
pond embraced by reeds
the fragile ringing of wind-chimes on an old, forgotten porch
wood wet with the dew of twilights not yet lived and
bodies, stars all over them

the gypsy swing of a canvas bag
three sizes too big
on an unfamiliar set of cobblestones, a pair
of shoes too scorched and loved, Beloved
he says, we all have failed
Don’t cry, and suddenly
there is no time, only leaps and

groans of the
left to measure the

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