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As I hover in that dream-haze
Between sleep and reality
I imagine myself a dove
That carries a bit of me away

And cloaked in sorrow's shroud
The Me that is You
But glides to the crystal margin

There, beneath the muting cold
You despair and offer your spoils
And I lay my gaze upon the daughter Earth

And push you down
My fingers bleed the dirt
Whirlpools retrograde and banish skies
That weaken clouds that rain
Milk which quenches fire

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