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stigma of a damselfly
the woodland hoarfrost dressing tendrils
could no less love the light;
it is in this very conflict I find myself
in cavernous worship to both sides,
this delicate balance of paradox,
pirouetting on a sheet of glass,
untinged
by the busy of the world,
alive in its own concention.
Thursday 15th August 2024 5:04 pm
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