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Sep 2016
the ants sing in traps
of fallen brown and all
these crazy winds dance
a blind ballet of coded
circles so rain constant
washes us in a dark baptism
when I clutch your hand
I feel small bones under
your skin, light as a bird,
made warm by the running
days, the last summer
Written by
Leslie Philibert  63/M/Germany
(63/M/Germany)   
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