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Let us slip those
who would strip veils
even from twilight, wring
umber from the curve
of the moon,
for sweet dreams are aborning
beneath cover of mind.
Let us slip down,
to river beds hollowed
by seasonal storms,
join seeds slipping silently,
by water, by night,
far from stake, from tie,
from trellis, from wire.
Back
I set aside blue
for light
and lost both.
You drew me back,
gave me tea,
a peach, said eat.
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