 Photo by Robin Rolder Incandescence-- veiled by dust, a halo ringed circumference. Mirrored slate-- the hot steams gust, and Heaven meets the walk in spate. What lies behind the tapping thrust of drops still set in swollen eyes? No shelter, shoulder, nor moonlit cusp gives comfort to a soul deprived.
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The poet lights the light and fades away. But the light goes on and on.
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