--Ernest Jésùyẹmí
Tuck inside a myth your rent violin:
To touch the light, you must believe first
In the lucid ghost of grief. Elegance
Of marvels. Tale away the vibrant fever.
The angel of bleeding abides not the clear unseen
Day. Abel hymns only dewlight there. The
Quiet trees divine their fused shadows
Over the earth; beneath the shadows, roots—
A gorgeous network of thirst. Spring
Like a ball.
A wild butterfly communes
With the flourishing secrets inside a flaming
Violet flower. Arrive peacecountry.
Voice be clipped awake. Harvest
The violin in Summer. The mouth, small
Humbling god, tightens to a lute.
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