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Arising as the
slow echo of night
fades into this new yellow life.
The winter wind works
to claim the air
leaves green tongues
violently slapping
the bottom of swift gray clouds.
If it were not
for the occasional
bird,
I would be
the bright
and delicate.
slow echo of night
fades into this new yellow life.
The winter wind works
to claim the air
leaves green tongues
violently slapping
the bottom of swift gray clouds.
If it were not
for the occasional
bird,
I would be
the bright
and delicate.
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