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the june sky at dawn is dewy-skinned
son of poseidon, celestia
sea thrift and rust and a salt-scent wind
whispering through the wisteria

which rattles the driftwood draped over the door
son of poseidon, celestia
bleached white by the sun, and brought here from the shore
whispering through the wisteria

now the may-shade flowers, under harp string showers
son of poseidon, celestia
turn transparent at the touch of these trembling hours
whispering through the wisteria


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