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I am anchored by this concrete;
The hands that feed,
And the flowers they bring.
There was a storm cloud I chased in a dream;
Away from the wreckage they try to redeem.
Eulogizing the day they wake,
And death is life’s eternal gates.
Everything tires, yet everything waits;
The poppies left before the grave.
It is well, but all unwell remains.
There is a lie I never forgave:
That there was something left to save.