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What god was it that would open
earth’s picture book and see the two
of us on a road, snowfields glittering
on every side and poplars bent like
the fingers of an old man clutching
what he loved about the sun?
Which of the many who came then,
gleaming and rimed in hard sunlight?

What did we have that any god would want?
Quick, if you can find it, hide it.

Fred Marchant, Against Epiphany
4 weeks ago January 28, 2012 93 notes #poetry #lit #fred marchant
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