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05.24.11 / 8:35 pm
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stone fingers uncurl with the first glimpse of the sun,
and the pale pink and orange daisies
make him remember nose and eyes, smell and sight.
he rises now to write:
of the pin and needle tingling in his feet,
the dreams of birds and trees in spring,
that suddenly appeared in the space where darkness turned to light.
he begins, while in the background, a sparrow calls sweetly to its bride.
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