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Wednesday, January 01, 2014

the first poem

the first poem of the year isn't, it can't be a tree
or lovely. It is love's, and my love uses
its roots to see: all water's a soul drawn free;
the earth's our heart but muted; and the truth is
my god isn't a god who'd not come unbeckoned.
she comes in the swarms of becoming seconds.
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