your bells
are welcome
they seldom set
before the sun
unrung and dated,
illuminated like
manuscripts from
secret ancient
information ages
tales of Saint Andrew
in the radiant city
turn to dust bowl blues
and a town without pity
the winds of time
rip pages,
fold edges in
an origami sea,
1,000 cranes
and all time constrained
by a paper ideal.
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