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Lana Hechtman Ayers SWEET STALK, AN ELEGY FOR GWENDOLYN BROOKS hereafter
my cunning companion
we cool to grace
chase gray cares
above washed prayers
stroke the heaven place
mad
& bold
hunt the night to breaking
no sleek smoke
no crazy light
only the old
sad quiet
so soft
I must kiss
every milk sense
through wild color
leap across tiger sleep
climb home
through long black
to pillow
your absent ever
brave face
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