the white pockets of my brain, filled with the finger
tips of snow, filled with autumnal rain, filled
with remorse and loss, yet sparrows and the sea,
gulls,
the common grass, flowers,
the silence the opens and opens for me,
the music that is banished that dances
naked as an eyelash, naked as a cross, naked as a
serpent,
i am staggering into the bright door of oblivion,
as steady as the sea, quite as a quill,
in an abandoned house where the dogs no longer bark,
but where children come to learn the equations of fire

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