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this moment—what is it—just
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My imperfect heart which prefers
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the amazing desire / that keeps me alive, though the face be still, be still,
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And suddenly a few elephants—
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It involves a ritual & a speechless messenger,
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In the other world, Prince whispers to every dove: cry, cry,
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and when I turned to look back I did not recognize a thing
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It’s not like we can choose what spears us through the heart.
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My sister tells me she is a bird.
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It was an alphabet on top
