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We make a thing we marvel
and learn to worry.
through the red glass of a prophet’s robe
makes us red.
We see the horse return the hour before storm
The thing we make
learns to marvel light.
We think worry is a robe
we can outgrow.
In the mirror we see our bodies without robes
The prophet marvels at the horse
This poem was one of the winners of the 2012 “Discovery” Poetry Contest.
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