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In My Dreams

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In my dreams
I travel to the church
asleep, it has so much more
hollow air in the room
than when I’m awake

through the stained glass
I watch lightning and rain
blend and twist with the colors
of the saints, and I think about
how beautiful it is,
how much depth that has.

I look deeper, and past the
bent, fragile reeds of grass,
against the churchyards graves
and their lamenting names,
the dead stand solid,
kissed by both
anger and love

because today
they are all being
remembered




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