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it looks like an error
it's how the thing grows
how it goes
like text in the cracks
each twig
each bud
taunts understanding
the sky comes into it
so much known
never twice the same
even cloudless
there is something coming
God made to make perfect
isn't the problem this word?
we stand under
time gone is all towards this
like light bent
any prism does
it's daylight shows
the flaws
for instance
in the seeing face
eternity hasn't got an eye
how did we come to be so old?
it's like a line of coast
how we have a house to stand
you'd think a flag would fly
limp as the words that hold it up
because of the caveats
you never finish saying
home let's say
the only error is to call
my indiscretion's poetry
let more leaves bury
let breezes wash away
:)
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