Look, here is grief,
Her humid circuit riding,
And here is God,
Abiding.
And here warm grace
Runs down the lichen’s fuzz,
And here sweats God
With us.
Now tap the glass
Which keeps the foggy smile,
Safe from the chill,
A while.
Look, here are ghosts
Of maybe, and because,
And here are grapes I grew
From moss.
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