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A golden candelabra bleeds dull lightacross the back of a pianoforte.Two feet, clad
in raven-colored leather,are ready to float above florid carpets..
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The persimmon tree quilted
the side yard with its hearts
of rotting orange, what we imagined
to be frostbitten pumpkins
turning to ectoplas..
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swale-weeper,
trunk
straight stone.
sometimes
there's no
other way than alone,
in a forest
ill-lighted with
nothing
to breathe to..
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Swaying above the street,
the copper-winged
wren looks out. Her head
thrumming the seconds
between breeze-swaggers. Her
feet the bent wire
o..
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for my step-father
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A Story by Eilis
This is not a story about religion.
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The mirror holds up the wall, child.It is notwhat you see, but what I tell youthat is real. I will hold youlike a ladybird in high summer: all r..
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.
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I find it strange at the center
of a cul-de-sac that there is a quiet
that beats the silent-heart of a long-left
forest. It is true, I remember..
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Stone-faced, red-columned
I have lent my shoulders
for temples. Have discovered,
how to call things by light-names;
make brutality feel less..
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