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Warm palms. Her hands. They cover my eyes,
Closed now, exhausted from the shriek of light;

And the whisper: Lay back your head
Into my lap. I am Nyx. I will coax

Your eyes back behind today into a
Freefall, down into the hall of dreams,

Away from the schemes and screams
You've endured all day. Forget all

For these few hours, and welcome
The strange and wondrous

Dance of the dream, and the
Faceless gondolier who will guide you

On the bent ebb of night,
Through the wink and lapping of

Moonlit nocturnal canals.
Your own Venice.

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Speaking of Poetry

  • A poem by Robert Phelps


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