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Poetry

Temple of the Falling Stars

It was summer and night in this city in the desert
and though the heat of the day had diminished
it lingered long, humid on our skin
as we lay on the grass and watched a hundred stars fall.

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The First Rough Grind

Churning through the first rough grind,
the slurry of coarse grit and violent impact
tearing sharp edges from rough stones.

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Pi to Unknown Places

Three point one four one five nine two six and
that’s as many places as I’ve ever known.

Because what’s the point of memorizing cold numbers?
However long, they will never touch you where you stand
apart from me, always in sight, just out of reach.

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