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Poetry

I was blinded by grace,
A prey torn from its shadow,
Entwined only to unravel.

Alive in a dead calm,
I was fire from which
Air is withheld,

A charged element.
An illegible signature,
I was that which

Otherwise serves to conceal.
An inaccessible room.
A sky divided by lightning.

 

 

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The Image archive is supported in part by an award from the National Endowment for the Arts.

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