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This Hole

  • Writer: Yongle Voynich
    Yongle Voynich
  • Sep 1, 2024
  • 1 min read

Blue sky falls into

This hole. Drags down sun, chases

Whipping winds and clouds.


Blanket lifts the cold,

Smothered night. Constellations

Melt, their stellar rain


Falls upon this hole.

Waters its garden: brimming

With stars. Moon swallows


The sun,

In this

Hole.

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