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My Grandfather's Cloak

With a gentle hand, the storm grasps
the handle of the door of the world;
like a hesitant stranger, it lets itself in,
stripping off its masks one after the other.
Dropping lightning into woods,
darkness into torches,
despair into ships,
the devil into horse's hooves,
blueness into the lips of the carriage driver,
and throwing me naked

into the jaws of the night.
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Friday, October 17, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: dream
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