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For "Preludes to England"


006e25d5f93c5908e9295c648d9e7d94by Stefon Napier15 Aug 2013

How many days exist in which I am not a fugitive?
The sunrise echoes off the shadows of my footsteps
but I am too indisposed to hear that kind of forgiveness.

The cliffs rise with pale purpose as though
God had taken care to rinse them daily.
Chalk outlines lathered in pinched grass
ferry imagination across many latitudes.
In mine eyes, a retaken glory.
A might from which I become a bluebird.

The kind of fugitive that is forgiven.