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Nov 2010
It’s not just bowed wood slats
singed till tar-black
on that bushel basket
keeping your brilliance pinned.
There are mediations of glass
and twirls of brass fittings
regulating its bold flame down
to dull orange glow.
Smash it all,
obtuse and obscuring.
Where will your light go?
To heavens and its birthing.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 License.
Francis Scudellari
Written by
Francis Scudellari
797
 
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