There is a feeling of crystal shining
velvet star which forest-runs lace
and sings a clear A flat major.
See how I cannot explain it.
The best I can do is lapse poet
and try that low road of imagery and soundfeel.
There's a tone that goes with the fact
that I wish to call him not by name of syllables
but by name of notes -
ay, Brighid, where is thy sting?
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