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somewherestill

of truth
the soul remembers
as falling
tears became
a promise made
– what more the light
might bring

settled down
these wantings –
of cedar planks
and pine
songs are writ
to circles –
angels sing

back into
the starting
and who would blame
our grief
for seasons
thrice denied
the taking in

winter pulls
the shadowed moon
with longing
for the first –
willing only this –
to love again

. . .