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13 Mintues

Curtains pardoned with a slight of hand,
Pushed past the glass and frame,
The earth and night, so fickle and bright,
Looked upon from above a window pane

The stars, sought through with needles' point
Bare back without feeling or name,
No matter the amount of time poured counting them
Their number remains the same

A silent world, tranquility unknown
Rests in the spaces of window and screen
Though fickle, perhaps, vain it is not
In the glass, it rests, fallen needles unseen





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