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I was a god in that body.
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Perhaps I made those flowers in my head,
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But the dazzle above, enclosing
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Come out into the open, into a clearing,
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And so I appeal to a voice, to something shadowy,
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summer leaned in the doorway
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My cricket chirps against thy mandolin.
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a flawed star, or hand, though he remembers no hands,
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If you ask
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The real issue, of course, was this: atomically, energetically,