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Friday, December 14, 2012

Immanuel

They built a fire
behind the church;
we pushed ourselves
between the minutes
thick as epochs.
I lost dad in the crowd.
Mixed freight
leaned its height
against the starfield,
and chased the west.
I found a horseshoe.
In some old Christmas,
there were stables,
And God With Us,
wanting us to learn
to be alone.

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