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Dialects Undreamed The mountain burns a seamless blue Across the ledge; a slight blade of sun draws a long, straight line above rooftops The world speaks dialects undreamed Its raw and gliding tongue unpeels the long-winded trail of snow geese Somewhere a crow, this utter of death whose grasp slips through my fingers What you feel, I feel; with a dexterous twist We drop like stones - eyes like melting pearls; Our limbs bending rich shadows across the wide terrain of unnamed boulevards Deborah Russell, © 2006