Owl
| Tom Simmons
Darkness of our sight, quick shade on the pale stars, move the black limb above us, graze our hair with the low laurel, the scent of a broken leaf: hone your cries sharp on our sleep.
| Tom Simmons
Darkness of our sight, quick shade on the pale stars, move the black limb above us, graze our hair with the low laurel, the scent of a broken leaf: hone your cries sharp on our sleep.
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