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Reckless War

We can’t depend on the Tibetan magic.
However, the blooming of fingers
gives you an idea.
Always a hand to grab onto.
Imagine a palm turned face up
in a field of timid mice
that scamper in circles because
they’ve seen the same hand fifthteen times.
But the music of the woman’s heart
kneels under the maples
clothed in a robe as she
kisses the ground in symphony
to the enemies footsteps.



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