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Draw a line of light in the blue: then
thumbs pressed together along its seam
like nutcracking, open up streets for
abbeys, music, carriages with watery
peopled shadows. And a name: Salzburg.
And on a nightdrive through this name,
the pilgrim shakes off his hooded nothingness
watching the lights mellow to candled out
carbon smells. Seated there alone, watching.
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