At our parallel, in December, light
dims. To blue. Our star is moving
on the other side. I believe
there is a woman holding the world
like a little girl holds an egg
she finds in the grass in springtime:
from Éireann Lorsung’s book of poetry Music For Landing Planes By
dims. To blue. Our star is moving
on the other side. I believe
there is a woman holding the world
like a little girl holds an egg
she finds in the grass in springtime:
from Éireann Lorsung’s book of poetry Music For Landing Planes By
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