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Wednesday, June 11, 2008


A body rounded in the black of night,
the whitened moon within a darkened sky,
illuminated roads as I passed by
by way of its pristine and glowing light.
It seems as lovely as an evening pearl,
perhaps the home of cultured deities.
I wondered then if only humans dream;
that only we succumb to night’s allure.

But then I recollected how wolves praise –
their joyous howls to the lunar rays;
the crashing frenzy of the smitten waves;
the celebrations of the stars ‘til day –
and realizing I was not at bay
had warmed me in the chill of night like day.

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A word is dead
When it is said,
Some say.

I say it just
Begins to live
That day.

- Emily Dickinson

Thanks, Wordle!