Saturday, November 02, 2013

all souls

All souls follow in the hollowed out
steps of saints   They walk a fine line,
up the nine that's eleven and leads to ten
not twelve   This hour is the mild breeze's
It teases with a scent of wild onion while water flows
below the city street   I follow the hallowed light   It sneaks
past the slate bottoms of clouds, then rises
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