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Finisterre
by Ezra Cohen
Under stiff, bright peaks the darkness unravels
And a thread of sadness blows loosely in the wind
And a nerve of hunger pierces all things
And a current draws out to sea
And spines of wind mar the surface
And the water-mirror stiffens with ice
The hulls of dreams are frozen beneath
And the gardens of angels
And the chains of thieves
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