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That muddying of the waters as the river chokes on its own breath and churns over that divide

That moment when God cried and grief bowed the shoulders and stole tears from the eyes

That lack of light stealing colors until slow stirring of day simmering over the eastern fire

That swirl of paint that blends this with that and carries bits of the edges along at its side

That thread of prayer mixing at the lips to rise swirling with the concoction of the ready dawn

That slide of brown hands over pink covers of true tales and goodness slip deep into the soul

That bound breath spilled out in laughter in the shallow of grass stained waters and blue chins

Those sparks of life clapping hands at the day and guarded in the night by fiery swords flaring light

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