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rope of the hours

the coats of all seasons will drop from our shoulders
and we will become houses for the wind
target practice for the ice arrows

we have not learned tomorrow’s one, two
we have not learned the wilding song
we have not learned the grief words

we have not learned the new highroads
they were not made for us
we are only in the way

but we will learn the small trail
we will drink from the lost alphabet
we will climb the hidden map

the mirrors will melt and we will find
a path for our feet, a sky for our faces
a thump for our hearts rising from their sleep dance

the clocks will shatter and we will hear
the rope of the hours, the pulse of the days

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