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The Storehouse For once we add to the measure the storehouse keeps safe, not come in the night with burlap to probe the grain, diminish the golden hills. For now I know the phone pulse at two brings news of a comet, look up. Your garden voice deeper for sure but you, for all we've been through, are identical genetically to the daughter youwere, your locutions your steady fingers on the trowel. Yaweh, eternal, forever at play in the universe, jester, let me stay last in line as I am now. 78 ...

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