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Going home on airless Elbow Street,
at three o’clock in the morning.
Lead me toward goodness, my God!
Peace-flowers bloom in these gray stones
and this dawn sky is peace.
Do You love me still, my…
our lightless awful days are passing
splinters of memories prick our brains
daily our Creator beats us using both hands
we are his dry weeds husked to the core
for us fire is no fire for us it is…