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Green as the cat's eyes reflected in the pane separated from the season and the sparrows in the rain Green as the moss on the shingle near the sky as distant from the sparrows as November from July. Green is the dress I'll wear when I die and watch my spirit rise in the green of her eye indifferent to my dying, indifferent to the way the blades green up and mock her from half a breath away. ________ for Sunday Muse #149 .

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