Posted on February 11, 2017 by Means of Grace
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It was night, but the door was open. You saw me look through a latticed gate. You always said that you had known then. You had the stories to conflate. You weren’t burdened to understand. I was whole from your side. The metal blocks, a…
Category: ItalyTags: Gate, Italy, Philosophy, Poem, Poetry, Talk
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