Singing three sixty five, painting fifty two, raining for if Peace...

This afternoon post rain
Has an eternal pure sense
As if Singing She drops her kind
Painting She drops her mind
And raining still for centuries
O this afternoon rains only hurries...

Paula as if singing rains
The paintings pure where drench
The deepest purest indifferent mind
The emboldened surest differently signed...

O this afternoon post so much of rains
Has how embraced a perennial dense
As if living small can only this way be made
As if living small can only this way be read...

Sans sharpnels biting blood
Sans bullet-wounds getting mixed with mud...

Like music flowing three sixty five
Like paintings borne every minute of life...


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