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The simplest things
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the moon unpeels itself without affection. It’s exhausting, remaining
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All summer long, the bushes had whispered
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Others’ loves may wink and smile
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Mix of salt & glass. You turn a page
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Still, I listen. I search
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why / was my life
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Goodness is not the point anymore
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In a mad orange flare
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Like a steel Dryad, and her gaze effaced