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And another kind of
wandering the landscape.

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Also a six line poem
written many years before.

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For the rose of a
Catholic dispensation.

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You understand the word chrism.

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A holy unguent and a very
good rhyme in this case.

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"Silver Lake, Vermont."

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"Familiar gestures
and a fresh hand.

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The lint and balsam,
sanctuary of the cooled flesh.

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Under a tissue wound, your hair
untied, your hair held back.

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The balm of chrism dripped
against your side."

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