Samarkand – Poem

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The mezzanine

A half step lean

Out of summerland

Cold hand

Chilled by

Dry water

Thrilled to fly

From cradle to slaughter

Adapt to

The new blue

Amidst the stair

Half lidded

Between fraying hair

What’s needed

Is precious peace

Is precipice

A half step lean

Out of the mezzanine


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