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Higher than all is summer
They called me Oxana
I was the island Atropos
Where Archangel Sachiel planted the thyme
And the pine needle could rest
Your burnt turtledove.
You do not recognize me
Because I was cremated in the mind's incomprehensible places
Yet I remain a girl
And now as I speak to you
Sinking into the suddenness of inertia
As a reminder, I sound the trumpet, the Incorporeal one.
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