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The Scouring

The slanted avenue is washed
with hard and scouring sunlight.

A glorious inquisitor,
the molten sky rips out

all of Nature’s medicaments,
its mesmerist witchcraft.

Passing by yet bound
I drink the leaning trees, the ground,

with eyes that briefly, then,
are clean. And when

the passing is complete
a dim-lit thought remains:

I never felt nearer the gods.
The_Silly_Sibyl
Written by The_Silly_Sibyl
Published
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