Howard Moss quotes

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Two months dead, I wrestle with your name
Whose separate letters make a paltry sum
That is not you.
When in the sea-light every early game
Was played with love and, if death's waters came,
Father, whom I murdered every night but one,
That one, when your death murdered me,
Grown onto every inch of plate, except
Where the hinges let it move, were living things,
The senseless drowned
Have faces nobody would care to see,
Wild roses, at your back porch, break their blood,
And bud to test surprises of sea air,
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