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am I the proof
of sanity
and someone’s need for
the want for stars
when all the night
is numb

to wishes
where our horses lay
wheat a shade
of pale
a mirror posed beneath
the starting now

am I the proof
of mysteries –
quite well though some
have said
remember where
and when
our fortune turned

loss into forgiveness
sorrow into bliss
reminders of
a prayer –
and I
the proof

. . .