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Every Colour

What is space were blue instead of black?

Would you still fear death?


And if the rotted leaves were shown to breathe,

The trees upon their oaky knees


Divesting

In a blaze of splendour;


Settling into death, near-death, the nearest they

Can be to death.


The dearest thing to me is death

And black, in fact, is every colour

Inhaled.

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