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David McLean
tracer

no tracer in the heart tracks
the sullen passage of the blood,
but it springs out like a child
going nowhere, happy where
he is, and not leaving the desert
he dwells in for any sea of reason,
any heaven, his everyday meaning
is written in the void and the vast
expanse of dust and sand
wherein lives a child or
man, the blood is going nowhere,
just home and away again,
the eternal circle the blood
understands


 

 

 

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