Pink Clouds
J
James McLain
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That is the fullness of your black petaled face.
A rose opens and falls again to the earth.
Having opened is bled, torn and worn.
Oh thorn of this precious green stem.
Sacred cross, deep wide space where god hides.
Rose of rose.
Again too be raked over the coals to cool yellow fire.
Breathing it in the scent overwhelmed, this is her fate.
He is again born up through the top one pink cloud.
Bu şiiri puanla
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