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You turn your head —
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Among shoes, I am the one with the pebble,
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A certain kind of Eden holds us thrall.
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To have a heart like this
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Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
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Be still sometimes.
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I live alone, like pith in a tree,
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the red coals more extreme, more curious
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I did not tether myself. I let go entirely and went,
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The gold of clouds slides
