Hollow

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Here the sky is azure—

There the sky is gray.
Here the sun is Golden

golden as the day.
Here the flowers wither

There the flowers grow.
Here the sun is hollow

Empty as the sow
That yields no golden flowers:

The furrows always show
The nakedness that clothes them—

The darkness.

The darkness bites my soul

The fullness—hollow—
Hollow as the morning

Rich as summer’s glow.
Forget the biting darkness

Assume no sunrise—still—
Remember in the night

Even the furrows



fill.





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