enter, then
the new era of poeme.
i am a mess,
my skirts sweep the dirt,
i shudder and shake,
but i do not weep.
i jangle with hope
and wish i could stop wishing;
i contradict myself.
i wonder:
how is it,
that i am still as green as jade,
after all i've seen and said?
green as green,
after all i've seen and all i did?
it seems
not a small mercy
but a huge
infinite and encompassing one.
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