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11.14.2003
somewhere past
the grey hills
we settle down
for a long and
peaceful night
the crane with
his eye dreams
atop a spire I
breathe spaces
bright ascents
lucid an aerie
drone as shine
lonely badgers
steal our soul
from the soils
and roots burn
floodlit barns
line the roads
dust and horse
whose hooves a
rose leaf mind
of late fall's
air unbinds us
from cold oaks
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