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by James C. Morehead
fine dust
falling
spent incense
in long smooth trails
shadows of grey
peace
a mist
a prism beam of lights
in a prisoned sky
warmth
around
drawing us inward
sheets that rise and fall
carrying us
dreaming of rainclouds
drifting to sea
if the sun rises
a fresh breeze clearing darkness
the night
will vanish in silence
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