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Thursday, January 27, 2011

Where comes gray

I came upon her making gray
Early one January morning,
Standing in a fallow field.
She drew the elements from
The Earth and Air:
The white of winter's snow,
The last dark of night,
The soft filter of fog.
All gathered in Isis' arms,
Composed by her whirling hands,
Spread by her quick breath.
The field suddenly illuminated
By a strange morning Twilight,
An animate, glowing gray
No summer rainbow could ever hold.

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