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What blossoms at the edge of dark?

The concept That beyond the worlds we know Across that black of undiscovered sky Some different enigmatic range may lie, Calls deep and strong Through seasons long And slow. Not more of stars Nor patterns to be seen, Not sills of time Through which some shape may lean; But unknown music That has not been heard, Unspoken prayer of the simple word.

Outside my window Reach three winter trees;

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Above the village roofs their upraised hands Outstretch toward unbounded, shoreless lands Where, eloquent, spring strange soliloquies.

By night I watch trees' fingers Cold and stark That ask: What blossoms at the edge of dark?

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