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moonlight, if fictitious
     or residual,
anything is nothing
     that isn't you or me
keeping, moving, swaying
     farther and surreal
into every dream,
     painful, perfect, poignant.
now breaths are sparse
     and heavy
galloping through our hearts,
     passion,
like vitality,
     everything alive,
offering all that remains
     sensory--
vivid, as searching angels in
     lightning sounds.
ever new. ever beautiful.
     here is our fall.