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crossed I once
an empty field
before the evening
blue
– worried not
for where the path
might lead

would restless
bring me home to find another
captive as a wing
within my wish

trace me not
from memory
of this (to come again) –
from where I was
returned
when prayers were said

before the night
was pulled to shade
a whisper ceased
to matter –
yellow held her hands
above the flame

where black
the spinner
cursed the taste
of silk

shadows shift
beneath the grey
wherein the light
was less
than I could pass
remembering
to see

. . .