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what of this
was ever mine –
in living I laid claim
when ages pass
and tears are dried
who will know
my name

how long before
my voice is fade
and every word denied
would that this verse
be written o’er
or washed beneath
the tide

how long have I
a day
a year –
whatever grace allows
to keep what I
am keeping –
names I speak aloud

so many now
the gates are loosed –
tis not for me to know
of dreams beyond
this dreaming –
places still
to go

. . .