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■ I know what you're thinking, father
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crucified in my palms the raven is praying
the fingers bear his fear in his joints the blood-birds disown him smiting him in a heartbeat across his clavicle lost among tracks minutely sandy I rise on my foot tips deepening into the earth his slippery wings which fret under the lids of the stones painted by the wind silent I watch his flight break the sacraments are penetrating the dusk deeply stars gather round him clenching on his serene fingers which exalt in a tear The Holy Trinity
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