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July 16, 2018 / barton smock

One Poem By Eleanor Gray

The Rising Phoenix Review

ambush of evening, solstice spilled on stone
without animal blood but other: our true names written
where river runs her blue arms through a velvet meadow

pale one, bending to waters, with a language of seeing &
silent woods, I am obscured by every beauty

you have never belonged

fleshed with the ordinary work of death,
irreducible in otherness

black violets, marsh-lily, open as many mouths in the
open chest of diligence

the day is feasting on the innocent, reeds of sun
bound in their song

familiar world, I do not know you

what does my mad heart dream of? my fingers,
stained with the tithe of violets

a dark sea spread with voyages, shy animals,
a garden where all love is,

far from me

with only dreams to feed the soul on,  I go,
through the dark wood,            wings waxen

time has no name for you, the words of…

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