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Finding

Dead poetry
dries itself in midnights sun
And drags false
portrayals
for deaf and
blind
like an astronomer
who
navigates the stars
Only to see that
Heaven
changes
Every night
My muse knows
no bounds
And guides me to see
My salvation
in everything
In the wrongs
and in the lost
To stagger breathlessly
into words flames

And heal from the burn with the most beautiful things on earth