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94 Don Mattera Your gift Your gift Warm, Alive against my flesh Weaves a virgin ecstasy Cleansing eyes Blinded by arrogance In my hands Through my fingers I once let slip A vital dream And now A parchment inscribed with pain Lies crumpled At the horizon of my heart But it was in your gift Prostrate Before the burning clouds, That I felt the fire rain down To singe your soul And mine ...

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