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Chasm
She is a ravine
And falls (or climbs)
Entangled roots,
Peach-smooth skin

It is dark,
Her face is faded in black
But she is alive
And fills a ravine like it should be
Empty
  Thoughts,
                    Words,
            Veins,
And mimics reflections
Of angels
Tangled in tree branches.
Copyright Heidi Atwood 1998.
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