| Night limbs lean out to trace those long roots
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| The many arteries of this forest
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| And somewhere in its web I can find rest
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| Feeling entirely all the fractures of this space
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| It shines out on hunters in stasis
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| Frozen in the membrane of night
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| Rapt under the Moon’s cool skin on earth
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| And charged with purpose
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| I trap a fragment
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| An echo strapped in amber
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| Moth-like and held from home
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| You, then, are my reluctant tutor
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| And through you I interpret the stark lunar stare
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| The mad visitation
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| Savour — fasting guardians of night
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| A black watch on the heath stilled by low currents
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| Grace — trickles of scent and heat
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| Fissures affixed as petrified twine
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| Bask — vain sepulchral hairs
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| Whose blossom aches and huddles close
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| Course — milk-light over hushed hearts
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| And breath’s crystal hung celestial
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| For you the bellicose thorns wind
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| Like secret serpents from light
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| For you the players sway on a stage of alabaster
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| Clasping their hands
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| Clasping their hands
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| Bold in rich cobalts
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| From a bottomless well
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| An amour of ivories
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| Sutures of spell
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| Don’t fade in my prism
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| I shall empty your book
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| And deliver to midnight
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| The majesty took
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| Shine!
|
| Flood the fields deranged
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| Silver-white stain
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| It seeps to draw the wonder through the web
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| To teeter at the edge
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| For your gaze turns the cold stone
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| And bears a monument out of waste
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| For your dead walk ingrains Life with Death
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| And makes marvels of the gradients |