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peace in the neon
if my sight goes, i know
on the greyest days
the clouds were paintbrush water
a sweet smudge of sorrow
the memory of colour
at the height of searing summer
when grass was scorched upon the earth
streets shimmered
like rivers
and when she died
the sky - more vivid, vibrant -
held the moon aloft
with a blue that did astound me
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