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pieces

were memories
becoming this –
pieces not for barter
shall keep to nest
the coldest night we’ve known
guarded not for staying –
we kept inside too long
ancient fires to burn away
ashes from the stone

songbirds weep
for something
lost upon the winds –
music plays
tho I can’t hear a thing
wasted now the wanting –
for all I should have said
– the chill is come
to wrap around
my spring

. . .

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