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This night sky won't always have a meaning,

Won't always mean something it's meant before,

For if it did it would always be but

Merest meaning, and how then would I know

Myself from any other self, my self

Beached at the sea of my soul, as it turns

To sing back to this star-seized evening that's

Unreeling and unreals like Paradise?

Mirror For the Mirror

Rowan Ricardo Phillips

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Poem of the Week

Dzvinia Orlowsky

Wine of Angels

translated from the Ukrainian written by
Natalka Bilotserkivets